


Doomed from the Start

by Engineer104



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Organ Theft, Running Away, Unwind AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 57,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2337206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren found the documents entirely by accident.</p><p>An <i>Unwind</i> AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read Neal Shusterman's _Unwind_ I highly recommend it because it's a really exciting book with a wonderful plot and wonderful characters and some disturbing elements and social issues and like wow (even though the sequels are more meh... I mean, come on! The book ended _perfectly!_ ).
> 
> Okay, rant aside, I found a prompt on the snkkinkmeme that I really liked and then this monster-in-progress happened. Also, I strongly suspect jeaneren is taking over my life.
> 
> Uh, warning for homophobic slurs and generally disturbing talk (running away, 'legal' organ harvesting from unwilling victims, abandoned babies, Google the book if you're unsure, etc.) for the entire work.
> 
> Quick (optional) glossary: (if you haven't read the book)  
> Unwind - a teenager (aged 13-17) whose life has been signed away by their parents/legal guardian, for whatever reason, will have their organs harvested ('Unwound')  
> Tithe - an Unwind given as a religious or non-religious sacrifice and generally raised from birth for this purpose  
> Juvie cop - special cop with a special purpose: guarding/escorting/arresting Unwinds

Eren clutched the papers tightly in his hand, his eyes roving over his father’s neat handwriting, the witness signatures, the dates. . .

He trembled with rage, the rage that was undoubtedly the reason why his father filled the documents in the first place.

How ironic, Armin would say, about this last fight Eren got into, what was probably when he pushed his father over the edge.  The point of no return, Mikasa would quip humorlessly.

Eren still saw Thomas’ face swimming in his vision, his voice pounding in his ears.

_“Historia’s not here; guess her parents finally found out she’s a fag and had her Unwound.”_

But his look of shock at Eren’s fist in his jaw was nothing compared to the dread, the fear, that Thomas was right and Historia was off to be Unwound, and maybe just because she had a girlfriend.  And that itself hit a little too close to home.

Mikasa held him back, but only just, and the scuffle lasted long enough to attract the attention of a teacher; it didn’t help that Thomas’ nose was bleeding profusely.

And now Eren was faced with the Unwind documents bearing his father’s signature, and the utter unfairness of everything.  He gripped the top of the pages, tempted to tear them apart, but the Juvie cops that would be coming for him in just a few days would have their own copies.  It was a contract, sure, but everything about Unwinding was thorough; what good would shredding a few sheets of paper do?

He did it anyway, watching the pits of white flutter to the ground like snow, heart pushing adrenaline through his body, breathing heavily.  If only his mother was still alive; she might’ve been able to stop _him_. . .

His father opened the door to the study, his bespectacled eyes widening at the sight of the torn-up documents.  “Eren?” he said, voice calm.  “What are you doing in here?”

“You’re having me Unwound?” Eren demanded, throwing all caution to the wind.  Not that he was one for caution anyway.

His father’s jaw slackened, astonished.  “How did you find out?” he wondered.

His tone was still so level, so even, despite Eren’s anger, and that in itself irked him even more.  He wanted his father to yell back, to list all the things he’d done ‘wrong’ in his teenage years, to confront him with the reasons he was being Unwound.

But that was the thing about Unwinding:  parents didn’t need a reason, least of all a good one.

* * *

In two weeks, the Juvie cops would be coming for Eren, and in two weeks, he needed to be gone.

He only told Armin, who looked at him with wide eyes, and Mikasa, whose face revealed nothing.

“I’m kicking AWOL,” he announced to them easily, glaring challengingly between the two of them, expecting one of them to protest.

Neither did, and he was so relieved that he almost burst into tears, even as they took turns embracing him, Armin in his loose but no less affectionate arms and Mikasa in a breathtakingly tight, ‘love hurts’ hug.

“You be careful,” she muttered into his ear before letting go.

“Yeah,” he agreed, although he doubted he’d be able to keep such a promise.

“Go before the Juvie cops come for you,” Armin advised, his blue eyes swimming with tears.

“Y-yeah,” Eren said, a little shakily as they once more wrapped him in their arms, this time together.  He felt Mikasa kiss his forehead and Armin rub his back while he returned their affection, and he thought, _Tonight_.  It had to be tonight, and dread curled in his gut when he considered that he would never see his best friends again.

What were the odds that he’d escape the cops’ notice until he turned eighteen, when he could no longer be Unwound?  There were only rumors of Unwinds going AWOL, and no survival stories to speak of at all.

Eren was still determined to make it.

At home, he upended his backpack, dumping textbooks, notebooks, and pencils onto his bed.  He replaced them with an extra pair of jeans, two pairs of boxers, two t-shirts, his hoodie, a toothbrush, and toothpaste.  He figured that hygiene was still important even if he was on the run.

As a final touch, Eren grabbed his now-irrelevant algebra notebook and tore out a sheet of paper.  He gripped a pen in hand and addressed an angry letter to his father.

Armin would berate him for making it obvious that he was kicking AWOL, but Eren didn’t care; his father would be finding out soon anyway.

* * *

Slipping out of his single-story house was easy; making his way out of Shiganshina was not.

With barely a plan in mind, Eren walked out of his neighborhood, backpack over his shoulder, hoping that he looked like a normal kid coming home late from school.  He checked his watch every so often, conscious of the eight o’clock _enforced_ curfew, until he arrived at the main highway that passed on the outskirts of the city.

On a whim, he turned south, away from Shiganshina, away from everything he’d ever known.  He ignored the chill of fear, the dread, that he could still be caught.

His freedom was in contention much too soon.

Eren spotted the Juvie cop before the Juvie cop spotted Eren.  He was just leaning against the hood of his stupid marked car, hands in his pockets, cigarette between his lips.

Eren drifted away from the highway, into the shadows of the bordering trees.  He continued to follow his path though, eyes peeled towards the Juvie cop just ahead of him.  And as he drew level with the cop, his attention was so focused on the highway to his left that he didn’t notice the discarded plastic bottle under his foot until he stepped on it.

“Shit,” he hissed, alerted at the harsh crumbling sound.

“Hey, who’s there?” the Juvie cop shouted from the highway.

Eren froze, his breathing shallow as the cop shined a flashlight at the trees.  _What now what now what now._

He crept backwards, stepping carefully around fallen leaves ( _fuck why’s it October_ ) and twigs, away from the highway, conscious of the beam of the Juvie’s flashlight inching closer.

It swung over him, and then Eren was blind.

“Freeze!” the cop commanded.

He didn’t.

Instead, Eren took off, diagonally back towards the highway and away from the Juvie, hoping hoping _hoping_ that he could lose him in the confusion of post-rush hour traffic.

The Juvie cop was chasing Eren down the highway when he spotted the black BMW parked on the shoulder, a man standing just outside the driver’s side talking angrily into a phone.

_Please don’t be car troubles,_ Eren thought as he sprinted in that direction.  He panted heavily, backpack bouncing against his spine as he ran.  He was slowing down, energy draining, and the car was still several yards ahead.

“Gotcha,” said a triumphant voice behind him, and Eren was jerked backwards when the cop grabbed his bag.

“Shit,” he gasped as the Juvie tugged him closer.  Eren thrashed around, pulling his arms out of the straps on his backpack, but the Juvie already had a firm grip on his left arm.

“Thought you could get away, huh?” he demanded, leering at Eren.

He was bigger than him, too big for any teenager but Mikasa to knock down, but Eren still swung his right fist at his jaw.

The cop dropped the bag and let go of Eren in shock, rubbing at the red mark on his face.  “You fucking piece of shit,” he grumbled.

Eren started to back away from him, bracing himself to make a run for it, until he saw the Juvie cop’s hand go for his gun holster.

Eren leapt forward and tackled the cop to the ground right as he pulled the tranq gun from his belt.  They grappled for it for a minute, the cop struggling to maintain his flimsy grip while Eren attempted to wrestle it away.

Eren was faster.

He grabbed the gun and quickly moved out of the Juvie cop’s reach, standing up and pointing the gun at him.  He was glad that his grip was firm, that his hands didn’t tremble.

The cop laughed.  “I bet you don’t know where the safety is.”

Eren glared at him and fingered along the gun until he found a switch, clicking it out of place.

All humor left the cop’s face.  “You wouldn’t fucking dare,” he growled, his eyes rich with venom.

Eren felt his lips twist into a snarl.  “Watch me,” he said, and pulled the trigger.

The recoil barely shocked him as the gun fired, the dart plunging into the cop’s belly.  He continued to glare up at Eren, but he picked up his bag, sprinting away before his assailant was fully unconscious.

He was glad to see that the frustrated BMW driver was still there.

Eren appeared in front of him.  “Hey, can I borrow your car?” he demanded.

The driver spluttered, breaking off midway through whatever sentence he was uttering, and gaped at him, hazel eyes wide with disbelief.

Eren didn’t panic and raised the tranq gun and shot him in the chest.  Before he even slumped to the ground, he dropped the gun and said, “’Kay, thanks.”  He lurched through the door without so much as another word.  He slammed the door shut, knowing he had moments, and tossed his bag into the passenger seat.

“What the fuck,” a shocked voice grumbled.

Eren ignored it and, heart pounding as he turned the key in the ignition, exhaled in relief as the engine rumbled into life.  He shifted gears into drive and floored it onto the highway.

“Okay, what the fuck,” the voice repeated.

Eren turned his head to see a teenage boy, with untidy dirty blonde hair, a sharp, pointy nose, and piercing hazel eyes, glaring at him.  He grinned when he noticed he was dressed in white.

“Well, it looks like I rescued a tithe,” he remarked.

“No, it looks like you fucking _carjacked_ my dad’s car,” the tithe retorted, scowling.

“Details,” Eren said, rolling his eyes.  He could already feel the adrenaline draining from his system as he passed a slow minivan.

“You have extra clothes in here?” the tithe then asked.

“Huh?”  He glanced over at his unexpected passenger to see him holding up his backpack.  “What, why?”

“Because, believe it or not, I’m going to make the best of this and not get Unwound,” the tithe replied matter-of-factly.  “And it would be nice if I didn’t look like a fucking tithe.”

“R-right,” Eren said, nodding.

“And, uh, it looks like we’re about the same size,” he added, tone lame.

“Sure, I have extra clothes in there,” Eren told him.  “Knock yourself out.”

“Like you knocked out my dad and that Juvie cop?”

Eren chuckled.  “No, not like that.”

They fell silent, Eren focused on night-driving and the tithe struggling to undress and dress without taking off his seatbelt.  Eren couldn’t help his eyes wandering over to him in curiosity, biting his lip when he saw a lean torso and pink nipples.  He shook his head firmly and fixed his gaze on the road ahead.

“I’m Eren,” he said once the tithe was settled in his seat again.

He continued straightening the shirt he’d put on, smoothing the wrinkles out of the front with his hand.  “Jean,” he said, glancing at Eren.  “We need to ditch this car.”

“‘We’?”  Eren shot him a dubious look; his sparse plans hadn’t included a tithe tagging along, no matter how attractive he was.

“Yeah, _we_ ,” Jean repeated pointedly.  “Neither of us wants to get Unwound, and because you stole a car that I _happened_ to be in doesn’t mean you get to fucking ditch me to go off being AWOL on your own.”

Eren gritted his teeth.  “Why?” he said.  “Wouldn’t it be easier if we split?”

Jean seemed to contemplate it for a minute, but then he replied, “No.  If we work together, it’ll be mutually assured survival, right?”

Eren shrugged.

“Come on, I’m already wearing your clothes,” Jean pointed out with a hint of humor.

Eren felt heat flaring on his face.  “Fine,” he said, sighing.  “What do we do after we ditch the car?”

“We lose ourselves in a crowd,” Jean replied easily.  “Stay out of sight during school hours, if possible.  If you’re AWOL, didn’t you have a plan of your own?”

Eren shot him a glare and retorted defensively, “Plans change when Juvie cops start chasing you down state highways.”

“So that’s a no. . .”

Eren didn’t bother to respond, focused on tailgating a truck.  He shot a glance over his shoulder, and, when he saw the next few lanes were clear, swerved across them to the inside of the highway.

“Fucking shit,” Jean said, clutching his armrest as Eren floored the gas pedal.  “You’re a shitty driver.”

“Hey, I only have a learner’s permit,” Eren retorted, switching lanes to pass a car going much too slow.  When a car honked at him for cutting them off, he glared at the road ahead.

“If you don’t quit with the suicidal shit, we’re gonna get pulled over by the real cops.”

“Maybe I’d rather die than be Unwound,” Eren grumbled, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“For fuck’s sake. . .” Jean muttered under his breath.  “If you’re here, I don’t know which I’d rather do.”

* * *

They ditched the car around midnight, abandoning it just in front of the exit and walking into the small town there.

Eren yawned widely as he shifted his backpack, glancing at Jean, who still seemed to be wide awake.  “So, rich boy,” he asked, “got any money for coffee?”

Jean shot him a glare and shook his head.  “What does an Unwind need with money?”

Eren rolled his eyes but silently conceded that he had a point.  Instead, he rifled through his bag and pulled out his wallet.  “I have my life savings in here,” he said.  By ‘life savings’, he really meant fifteen years’ accumulation of birthday and holiday money.

“Can you spare for just coffee?” Jean said skeptically.

“I don’t think we should sleep tonight,” Eren told him.  “Besides, _where_ would we sleep?”

Jean shrugged, scowling as he kicked a rock off of the sidewalk.

Eren detoured to a 7-Eleven, a suspicious-looking Jean tracing his footsteps.  As he glanced at the undoubtedly old coffee in their pots, Jean commented, “There’s probably a curfew here.”

“So?”

“ _So_ we’re fucking breaking a law,” he replied irritably.  “If that cashier gets suspicious of two teenagers, one of whom has, like, _four hundred bucks_ on him, being out at midnight, he’ll call the fucking police.”

Eren grabbed a cup and poured it full of the strongest roast.  “Okay, so what do you suggest?” he wondered, looking sideways at Jean.

“J-just give me your wallet,” he said, holding out his hand.  “I look older than you, so maybe I can pass for eighteen.”

“Yeah, thanks to your fucking horseface,” Eren grumbled, but he passed his wallet to Jean and ignored the affronted look that he threw at him.  Then, struck by inspiration, he said, “Hey, wanna buy me a pack of cigarettes?”

“What the fuck?  Why?” Jean demanded, perplexed.

“To trash my lungs,” Eren explained easily.  “What if we get caught?”  Shame at his own words pricked at his stomach; he was _determined_ not to get caught.  “Then the assholes get less viable organs.”

Jean fixed him with an incredulous gaze.  “That’s really fucking stupid, you know that?  What if the cashier asks for an I.D.?”

Eren rolled his eyes.  “I was just joking,” he cajoled.  “Damn.”

Jean grimaced, then said, “Look, between the two of us, you’re the least likely to get caught.”

“Why do you say that?” Eren wondered, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m a tithe, and my parents always keep their promises.”  His tone sounded ominous, even as he added, “Besides, I can already tell you’re the kind of idiot that actually believes he won’t get caught.”

“Asshole,” Eren muttered, and then sipped at his lukewarm coffee and grimaced at the bitter taste; he set it down and set about adding several creamers and three packets of sugar.  When he was finished, he tried it again, relieved that it was more tolerable, although still fairly revolting.

Jean watched him with a bemused expression on his face, and when Eren offered him a sip, it turned to disgust.  “The fuck do I want with your coffee?”

“Then make your own fucking coffee,” Eren retorted.

“I’m fine,” Jean said, shrugging.

“Suit yourself,” Eren said, passing Jean the cup and making his way outside the convenience store.

He loitered outside for a few minutes, wondering if his father had found the note yet, if Mikasa and Armin were aware that he’d run yet. . .  But no, they wouldn’t know until they didn’t see him at school.

Thomas would probably say it served him right, the defender of fags and Unwinds, rejects of society.

Eren shook away the sudden anger when he spotted Jean emerging from the 7-Eleven.  He handed him the coffee and stuffed the change from the purchase into his wallet.

He gulped down a mouthful, then turned to Jean, holding out his hand to receive his wallet.

When Jean continued to stare at something inside it, Eren waved his hand impatiently.  “Hey, horseface, can I have my wallet back?”

Jean scowled at him, then flipped the wallet around so that Eren could see whatever he was looking at.  “Who’s this?” he asked, tapping a photo of Eren, Armin, and Mikasa.

“That’s my friend Mikasa,” Eren replied, suddenly overcome by a surge of anger.

“Oh,” Jean said, glancing once more at the photo.  As he returned the wallet to Eren, he muttered, “She’s hot.”

Eren glowered at him but didn’t comment as he stuffed his wallet into his backpack.  He continued to down his coffee, as quickly as he could so that the taste wouldn’t linger on his tongue; he lamented not buying a bottle of water at the 7-Eleven as well.

He and Jean wandered into a decrepit-looking park, and Eren glanced over at him, taking in the way his eyes had started to droop.  He sighed and suggested, “We should rest till morning.  If someone looks out their window, we’d probably seem suspicious.”

“You finally learned to think, huh?” Jean commented, tone tired.

“Yeah, that’s what it is,” Eren grumbled, crossing the trash-strewn lawn to the jungle gym.  His feet sank uncomfortably into the sand, reminding him of the beach trip with Armin and Mikasa just last summer, and plopped down onto the sand under the slide.

Jean sat beside him and leaned against the play set.  Here, they were reasonably sheltered from any late-night passersby, so Eren offered him his backpack.

“Pillow?”

Jean shook his head, shoulders slumping as he pinched his eyes shut.

“So what’s it like, being a tithe?” Eren wondered.  He drained the rest of his coffee and set the cup aside, making a mental note to toss it in a trash can in the morning; the park didn’t need any more litter.

“I don’t know,” Jean mumbled.  “What’s it like being a regular Unwind?”

Eren blinked at him, confused.  “I don’t understand. . .”

“It fucking sucks, right?” Jean said, hazel irises peeking from between pale eyelids.  “I mean, other tithes are, well, they’re all brainwashed,” he continued.  “They think they’re doing something great, because their parents have told them that since they were kids.”

“So why are you different?”  Eren leaned towards Jean, curious.

“Wasn’t fucking supposed to be a tithe,” Jean told him.  He slung an arm over his face.

“O-oh?” Eren said.  He was perplexed again; he’d never met a tithe before, but the concept still disgusted him, that parents would promise that their child, from birth, would one day be Unwound.  “Why didn’t you fight it?  Argue?”

“Why didn’t _you_?” Jean retorted, lifting his arm and glaring at Eren.

“I did,” Eren said, crossing his arms.  “I ran off, didn’t I?”

“Well, I couldn’t even do that.  I was gonna fucking accept my fate, till you came along.  Thanks for that,” he commented huffily.

Eren couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, so he didn’t reply except to say, “You shouldn’t have to accept a fate you don’t like.”

“Yeah, but that’s easier said than done,” Jean told him.  “You’re the suicidal bastard that shot a fucking Juvie cop with his own tranq gun.”

“You’re the tithe that wasn’t brainwashed,” Eren shot back, glaring at Jean.

Jean glared back, his arm hanging limply at his side, but then his gaze lost some of its heat.  “How old are you?”

Eren raised an eyebrow.  “Fifteen.  Why?  How old are _you_?”

“Same,” Jean said, shrugging.  “And just curious.  I mean, I guess we just need to survive on the run till our eighteenth birthdays, huh?  Then they can’t fucking Unwind us.”

Eren counted on his fingers, stomach dropping at the realization that he had over two years.  “My birthday’s not till fucking March,” he said, quietly.

“April,” Jean replied.  “You’ve got it a bit better.”

Eren shrugged.  “Maybe we’ll find somewhere safe soon, so we don’t have to keep running.”

Jean scoffed, “Yeah fucking right.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie, arguing, and awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for homophobic slurs.
> 
> Apologies for the inconsistent chapter lengths. They'll probably be about this long from now on.
> 
> Glossary in end notes.

Eren and Jean found the safe house entirely by accident.

They were a pair of runaways, attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible, when a couple of Juvie cops leveled a suspicious glare at them.

Eren glared back, with Jean muttering obscenities at him under his breath:  “Eren, you fuck, don’t fucking look at them.”  He then grabbed him by the arm and dragged him down the street, until they were out of sight.

“Hey, let go,” Eren growled, wrenching his arm from Jean’s grip.  “The fuck was that for?”

Jean rolled his eyes and scolded, “If I hadn’t pulled you away, they would’ve taken notice.  And for what?  Do you _want_ to get sent to a fucking harvest camp?”

Eren ignored the cool prickle of shame on his neck and retorted, “I’m not the one who ran away like a fucking baby.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just trying to stay safe, you asshat,” Jean grumbled, crossing his arms and glowering.  “I’m so sorry I tried to fucking help.  Now shut the fuck up before someone overhears us.”

“No one’s gonna fucking overhear us,” Eren said, but he kept his voice low as he followed Jean further down the alley.  He glanced over his shoulder, then felt cold dread when he saw the Juvie cops were stalking them.  “Jean,” he hissed urgently, facing forward again.

“What?” Jean shot back, still sounding annoyed.

“They’re fucking _following_ us,” Eren alerted him.  He resisted the urge to look back and pointedly stared ahead over Jean’s shoulder.

Jean shot him a look, nodded imperceptibly, and once more grabbed his arm.  Ignoring Eren’s snort of protest, he shoved his way into a sudden crowd of people, mumbling apologies and insults alike to get through the mob, before suddenly derailing to the right and pushing open the door to a bookstore.

A soft bell tinkled overhead, and Eren really wanted to rub the numbness out of stepped-on toes, but Jean didn’t halt to let him rest and continued to plow on between shelves, ignoring an employee’s bored greeting, until they hid somewhere in the dark corner of the shop.  He finally let go of Eren and sat down heavily between an unpacked box and a display of Agatha Christie mysteries.

Eren sat beside him, trying to control his breathing and shake feeling back into his arm.  He stared at Jean’s face, at his hard hazel eyes peeled straight ahead, barely flinching when the bell rang again and a greeting was called out.

“Ah, fuck,” Eren whispered.

Jean scowled at him, silently begging him to keep quiet.  Eren shrugged and covered his mouth with his hand, well aware of the anxious pounding of his heart as he listened to the voices conversing at the front of the store.

“Did a couple of teenage boys come in here?” a polite-sounding, masculine voice asked.

“Depends,” replied the employee.  “What time?”  His voice was deadpan and reminded Eren irresistibly of Mikasa.

“Less than five minutes ago,” the Juvie cop told him.

“Hmm.”  To Eren’s ear, the thoughtful noise sounded almost mocking, even as he continued, “No, you must have the wrong bookstore.  It’s the middle of a weekday; shouldn’t two teenage boys be at school?”

Eren exchanged a glance with Jean, but looked away immediately when he saw his own fear and dread reflected on the other’s face.

“Not if they were AWOL, huh?” the other cop (probably) remarked.

The store employee didn’t comment for a few seconds, and Eren was well aware of the sound of his and Jean’s breathing collectively filling the silence, until he said, “I don’t let brats into this store.”

“Fucking shit,” Jean muttered from beside him, and this time Eren was the one to glare at him into silence, punctuating the sentiment with an elbow to the ribs.

Eren imagined the cops and the store clerk in a silent standoff, the cops staring down the clerk, and the clerk leveling them with a deadpan, challenging stare.  In his head, he looked like a male version of Mikasa.

Finally, a loud sigh echoed through the store, and one of the cops said, “Well, they must’ve gone into a different store.  Fuckin’ Unwinds.”  He continued to mutter, too quietly for Eren to make out, and the sound of the bell over the door once more filled the shop.

Eren sagged with relief, his hand falling into his lap, and he felt Jean relax beside him.  He turned and made eye contact with him, his own face splitting into a relieved smile when he saw Jean’s grin.

“So you two little shits are AWOL?”

Eren spun his head around towards the voice so fast he heard his neck crack.  He looked up to see the clerk glaring down at them.

“Uh, y-yeah,” Jean spluttered, his unfortunate penchant for honesty kicking in.

The employee continued to stare at them, eyes flicking from Eren to Jean and back again, before sighing heavily and gesturing for them to stand.  “Lucky for you,” he said as they got to their feet, “you’ve found a safe house.”

“Safe house?” Eren repeated, feeling almost faint with relief at the words.

“I thought those were myths,” Jean said.

“Would you fucking quit with your pessimism?” Eren retorted, glaring at him.

Jean met his glare with one of his own, their brief camaraderie evaporating thanks to prospective safety.

“They’re not myths,” the employee – Eren could now see that his nametag read ‘Levi’ – told them.  “Follow me.”

Eren watched Levi cross the store, all the way to the opposite corner, where there was a door to a break room.  He and Jean followed him, once more exchanging glances; Eren could see the caution in Jean’s gaze and nodded reassuringly at him.  Jean just rolled his eyes and huffed in response.

It was just a normal break room, just big enough to fit a square table and a few chairs, with a refrigerator in one corner and a row of cabinets along one of the shorter walls.

“Nice place you got,” Jean remarked, tone full of sarcasm.

Eren snickered, and Levi shot Jean an unreadable look over his shoulder.  He walked over to the cabinets and opened one in the middle.  “I hope you brats can fit,” he commented, stepping aside to allow them access.

“Uh. . .”  Jean gaped at the small opening and glanced at Eren, who shrugged and smirked at him.  “What’s in here?”

“A temporary safe place,” Levi told him.  “Now get your ass in there before the Juvie cops come back and take it to a harvest camp.”

Jean scowled but crouched down, slowly.

Eren rolled his eyes but offered, “I can go first, if you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Jean retorted, right as he crawled to the side and gestured for Eren to take his place.

“Right,” Eren said, leveling him with an amused glance as he got to his knees and glanced into the cabinet.

It was dark, which was something Eren expected, too dark to see the opposite end, even with the light from the break room.  He swallowed bracingly, ignoring the sudden pounding of his heart and his claustrophobia, and ducked his head inside.

“Watch the stairs,” Levi warned from behind him, right as Eren felt the sudden change in elevation at his fingertips.

He shifted his body, turning so that his feet went down the stairs first.  He slid down, step by step, until the ceiling was high enough for him to stand and take the rest.  He heard footsteps behind him, joined by Jean’s muffled curses and Levi’s snorts of irritation.

When Eren’s feet rested on level ground, he glanced around.

He stood in a low-ceilinged, stuffy cellar, with a few sleeping bags strewn on the concrete floor, a dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling, and a door on the opposite wall.  There were also three other occupants:  a girl crouched in a corner, reading a well-loved paperback and two boys, sat on either side of a chessboard.

Eren bit his lip, trying to ignore the feeling of the walls closing in as Jean and Levi emerged from the stairwell.

“That’s the bathroom,” Levi said, pointing at the opposite door.  “Feel free to shower so it doesn’t stink in here, and tell me when you run low on supplies.”  He looked between Jean and Eren.  “Later, I’ll bring sleeping bags for you, and twice a day I drop off meals.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “Be prepared to leave anytime.  Got it?”

Eren nodded, eyes widening at his ominous words.  Beside him, Jean mumbled assent.

Then, Levi glanced around the room, eyes resting on each of the other tenants, and returned back up the stairs.  Eren thought he could hear the soft shutting of the cabinet.

He slumped against the wall and slid down, resting his face in his hands at an oncoming headache.  He didn’t know what was next, _if_ there was even anything next, despite Levi’s words, but he sincerely hoped they wouldn’t be in the cellar for long.

* * *

Their whole time spent in the safe house made Eren twitchy and nervous, jumping at the slightest shifting, sleeping lightly, and breathing shallowly every time he forgot where he was, every time he dwelled on thoughts of Mikasa, Armin, his father, the Juvie cop he shot. . .

“Eren?”

He flinched at the sound of Jean’s voice and turned to glance over to where he was lying on his own sleeping bag.  “What?” he replied quietly, wary of the sounds of the others sleeping.

“Can’t sleep?” Jean wondered.

In the dim hue of the light bulb hanging overhead, Eren could make out his raised eyebrows, the concern and curiosity on his face.  “Y-yeah,” he admitted.

“You’re claustrophobic, aren’t you?”

Eren’s eyes widened, then narrowed.  “So what if I am?” he demanded, on guard.

“Chill the fuck out, Eren,” Jean said, immediately on the defensive.  “I’m just wondering.”

Eren sighed and rolled onto his back.  “Yeah,” he confirmed without hesitation.

Jean didn’t say anything, not at first, until he asked, “Do you trust me?”

He felt his jaw fall slack, surprised that Jean would ask him that, and disconcerted by the worry in his tone.  “Uh, yes?” he said, turning onto his side to better look at him.  “You’ve saved my life, so why wouldn’t I?”

Jean, already facing him, nodded, a slight smile on his face.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “I mean, I trust you, so I just wanted to make sure.”

“Okay,” Eren said, not really sure what else to say to that, but before he could turn back around and try to fall asleep, Jean’s voice stopped him.

“Thanks.”

“Thanks?”  He stared at Jean’s face, surprised at the somber expression on his face.  “Thanks for what?”

“Thanks for, uh, carjacking me,” he said.  “I, well, I never wanted to be a tithe, but I didn’t ever fight it before either.  And I’m, uh, I’m grateful that I had the chance.”

In the slight light, Eren thought he could see a blush on Jean’s cheeks, or maybe it was just a trick of the light.  Either way, Eren felt his own face heat up.  He cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “It, uh, it was nothing.”

Before Jean could continue the conversation, Eren turned to his other side and curled up, shutting everything out, shutting out the pressure of the stuffy air around him and Jean’s expectations thanks to his misplaced heroism.

The last thing he heard before he finally drifted off into a fitful sleep was, “No it wasn’t.”

* * *

The short blonde girl was named Annie and had a glower even deadlier than Levi’s.  She refused to discuss why she was being Unwound and seemed to listen to everyone else with a sort of bored detachment.

Reiner, muscular and blonde, and Bertolt, tall and gangly, were from the same state home, signed away in triplicate when it became too crowded, too unfunded, and their potential for society too little.

Jean admitted that he was a tithe, an Unwind from a rich family, and when Reiner made a rude comment, causing him to flinch, Eren might’ve shot him a glare and brushed the side of Jean’s hand with his own.

Eren told them about the numerous fights, about the punch that pushed his father over the edge, but kept out of his story the angry note he left for him before he ran away.  He could feel the others’ gazes on him, but Jean’s held the most weight.

“How long have you been here?” Jean asked once the tales were over.

“Bertl and I have been here the longest,” Reiner replied, clutching his friend’s shoulder.  “I think it’s been two weeks.  Levi brings us news though.”

“News about what?” Eren wondered, leaning towards them slightly, eagerly.  He hated waiting, hated the idea of being in this stuffy, dark cellar for two weeks; the two days since he’d arrived were mind-numbing and stressful enough.

“Just news in general,” Reiner continued with a quick glance at Bertolt.  “But rumors too.”

“What kind of rumors?” Jean inquired, tone suspicious.

“Well, he said something about an AWOL Unwind that shot a cop with his own tranq gun.”

Eren heard a sharp intake of breath from Jean and felt his own face heat up.

“You guys hear anything about that?” Reiner added, tone eager.

Eren opened his mouth to confirm or deny, he didn’t know, but, to his surprise, Annie piped up, “It’s him.”

He turned to where she sat leaning against the wall, gaze fixed on the floor and hand up, index finger pointing at Eren.  His eyes widened, shocked at her recognition.

“Levi said he rescued a tithe,” she added by way of explanation.  She pointed at Jean, then looked up at him, cocking her head slightly.  “You’re old for a tithe, aren’t you?”

Eren glanced at Jean, astonished to see that his face was pink with embarrassment, and watched as he nodded.

“Y-yeah, I am.”

“Why?” Annie wondered, her tone taking on a hint of morbid curiosity.

“M-my little brother was supposed to be Unwound,” Jean replied a little shakily, “b-but he got sick, and they don’t Unwind you if you’re sick.”

Eren immediately understood ‘sick’ to be ‘terminally ill’.  He gaped at Jean, shocked by his response.

“My parents had still promised a tithe though, so they signed me instead.”  He inhaled deeply, as if trying to calm himself, and Eren wasn’t sure if he was trembling with anger or with the beginning of a sob.

“I’m sorry,” Reiner said quickly, presumably apologizing for his earlier insult.

Jean shrugged, staring at the floor, and Eren placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder.  To his relief, Jean didn’t seem to resent it.  He just turned his face towards Eren and gave him a slight smile.

* * *

Eren dreamed he was suffocating, the weight of someone straddling his waist and crushing a pillow to his face.  He gasped for air, but all he got was a mouthful of fabric.

He jerked awake, breathless, sucking in air like he’d never get enough.  The walls were getting closer, squeezing him in, and he barely registered the sound of voices around him.

“Turn him onto his back,” someone suggested.

“No, he needs to sit up!”

Black spots danced across Eren’s vision, and where was all the oxygen?  There was nothing, nothing to breathe in this tiny, stifling cellar. . .

“Eren, if you don’t fucking calm down, you’ll pass out!”

Someone roughly forced him into a sitting position and leaned him against the wall, muttering harsh, yet comforting words into his ear.

“Eren, if you don’t quit hyperventilating, I’m going to fucking slap you!”

“Do it anyway,” someone else said.

Eren forced his breathing to slow, gasping one last time as his lungs filled with stagnant air.  The black spots receded, and though he still sensed the too-close walls, they were no longer the only things he was aware of.

“Piece of shit, don’t scare me like that again.”  The words were punctuated by a hard punch to the shoulder

Eren nodded, feeling strangely agreeable now that his vision was clear and his head wasn’t spinning, but he felt his eyes widen when he spotted Jean crouched beside him, terror falling away from his face.  “I’m fine,” he reassured him quickly, rubbing his now-sore arm.

“Yeah, you’d better fucking be,” he retorted.

A small, cool hand pressed to his forehead, and Eren flicked his gaze to his right, at Annie.

“You’ll be okay,” she announced simply, retracting her hand, “but try not to panic anymore.”

“Y-yeah,” Eren agreed quickly as she departed for her usual corner, surprised that she’d been the one helping.  He glanced at Jean questioningly, but he just shrugged.

“Probably knows CPR,” he muttered by way of response.

Jean stared at his face intently, as if trying to find something there.  Eren self-consciously bit the inside of his cheek and said, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Just. . .what happened?” he wondered.  “You seemed to be sleeping peacefully, and then you started hyperventilating.”

Eren’s neck felt warm, even as he admitted, “It was just a nightmare.”

“Well, we’ve been here for, like, a week,” Jean pointed out, “but that hasn’t happened before.  Is it gonna happen again?”

Eren didn’t reply at first, instead pulling his knees up to his face and wrapping his arms around his legs.  He rested his chin on them and stared at the floor, then shrugged.  “I don’t know, but probably not.  I’ve never felt that bad before.”

“Hmm.”  A hand clasped Eren’s shoulder, fingernails digging into his skin through his shirtsleeve.

Eren glanced in Jean’s direction, at his thoughtful face.  “What?” he said, raising an eyebrow at him.

Jean nodded towards Annie.  “I think. . .” he trailed off, as if considering his words, then continued in a whisper, “I think she’s a Stork.”

Eren gaped at him, then shifted his gaze ever so slightly to the girl in question, watched how she ate through another paperback like it was a picture book.  “Why do you say that?” he wondered.

“She’s pretty close-lipped about where’s she’s from, why she’s being Unwound,” Jean explained pragmatically.

Eren rolled his eyes.  “She’s allowed to have her secrets, asshole.”

Jean ignored the name, instead retorting, “I know _that_ , dumbass.  I’m just. . .theorizing.”

“Well, don’t theorize; it’s rude.”

“ _You’re_ worried about being rude?”  Jean laughed humorlessly.  “You fucking carjacked me.”

“And you’re grateful for it,” Eren shot back, glaring.

“Debatable,” Jean muttered under his breath.  He shifted in place, slouching against the wall, shoulder brushing Eren’s.  “It’s just that Storks are kind of. . .looked down on; I-I knew a few back, uh, home, and two of them ended up Unwound.”

Eren resisted the urge to put distance between them as he quietly replied, “Historia was – _is_ a Stork.”

“Who?”

“You know, that girl that I punched a dick for.”  He waved his hand vaguely.

“Then maybe _that_ ’s why she got Unwound, huh?” Jean mused.  “I mean, what’s worse then?  Being gay, or being a Stork?  Wanting someone you shouldn’t, or being unwanted yourself?”

“Don’t know,” Eren said, clenching his hands into fists.

“Rhetorical question, idiot,” Jean mumbled.

Eren rolled his eyes, smirking slightly, and said, “Don’t care.”

* * *

Every few days (or so it seemed; it was difficult keeping track of time in a dark cellar), Levi lingered when he brought them dinner, unfolding a metal chair and sitting in the center of the room, _chatting_ with them.

“So any new wars?” Reiner asked, tone vaguely humorous.

“New wars are old wars,” Levi replied, rolling his eyes.  “What does it matter who fights whom?”

Eren ate silently, simply listening to the conversation.  It felt remarkably like a preschool classroom, with the kids sitting in a circle around their teacher, although Levi had a more vulgar mouth than any teacher he’d ever had.

“So you little shits want anything else to keep busy?” Levi wondered, glancing at each of the five teenagers in turn.

“Couldn’t let us out at night, could you?” Jean inquired.

Eren shifted uncomfortably, sensing Jean’s gaze on his face.  He shot a look sideways, scowling and narrowing his eyes when they made contact with his

Jean huffed, as if to say, _“I’m helping you, idiot.”_

In any case, Levi flat out denied Jean’s request.  “You want to be caught then?” he said, appraising him.  “If you want to stretch your legs, pace around here.”  He gestured at the surrounding cellar.

“But—“

Eren elbowed Jean in the side.  “Drop it,” he hissed.  “It’s fine.”

“So how long are we going to be here anyway?” Reiner inquired, interrupting Eren’s and Jean’s mostly silent argument.

“I already told you, that depends,” Levi replied, sighing.

“So it’ll be till the Juvie cops find us?” Annie said, speaking up for the first time.

“I fucking hope not,” Levi told her, his gaze flicking over to her.  If he was surprised by words coming out of her mouth, he didn’t show it.

“You’re part of a network,” Jean said, tone thick with realization, eyes widening.

Levi raised a black eyebrow at him, then, to Eren’s surprise, admitted, “Yes.”

“And this network rescues AWOL Unwinds?”

“As many as we can.”

A tense silence descended into the cellar; Eren could practically feel the thoughts vibrating through the others’ heads.

Surprisingly, Annie was the one to interrupt the quiet:  “But that’s not enough.”

“Of course it’s not enough,” Levi grumbled.  “We’ve got people in D.C. fighting to outlaw Unwinding so that no kid has to end up in fucking pieces.  I say leave it _them_ ; changing policy is too fucking hard and I’m too fucking impatient.”

“So who _is_ ‘we’ anyway?” Eren wondered.

“We call ourselves the Scouts,” Levi said, shrugging.  When Jean snickered, he added, “I didn’t come up with the name though.  And before you ask,” he continued, shooting a quick glare at Eren, “you can’t join till you’re eighteen.”

Eren scoffed, “Why the fuck not?”

“Because we can’t move freely yet, dumbass,” Jean muttered from beside him.

“So there are other safe houses?” Annie asked, sounding thoughtful.  When Levi nodded, she said, “If we’re not staying here permanently, then will we move to a different safe house?”

“That would depend,” Levi said.

They waited for him to elaborate, but all he did was stand up, fold his chair, and return it to its usual corner of the room.  Eren watched him move, thoughts buzzing through his head.

A group fighting to end Unwinding and rescuing AWOL Unwinds?  It sounded almost like a dream – _almost_ because the true dream would be the true end.

* * *

Eren took to doing as Levi (mockingly) suggested every few hours, pacing the small cellar wall to wall to wall, between the stairs and the bathroom door, alternatively counting his paces and thinking about nothing in particular.

“Would you fucking sit still?” Jean said during his third time.  “Your pacing is making me nervous.”

Eren glared at him, at his scowl, but otherwise ignored him.  No one else protested, but he felt Annie follow him with her eyes.

He approached her once, and, to his surprise, she patted the floor beside her, her gaze fixed on the floor behind him.

“Uh. . .”

“Sit,” she commanded.

“All right,” Eren said, leaning against the wall adjacent to her usual corner.

Annie slid the day’s conquest under her leg and appraised him.  Eren raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to say something.  The way she could read people so easily, like the books Levi lent her, disconcerted him, and it didn’t help that she herself was as unreadable as letters to an illiterate.

“Your friend thinks I’m a Stork,” she said by way of introduction.

“Um.”  Eren didn’t deny it, instead waiting for her to elaborate.  When she didn’t, he cautiously pressed, “Are you?”

Annie’s gaze flicked over to where Jean sat, idly scribbling in a notebook.  Then she nodded.

Eren felt his eyes widen, surprised at both her admission and that Jean’s assumption was correct.  “Is that why you didn’t tell anyone why you’re an Unwind?”

Annie shrugged.  “Does it matter?  I don’t like talking about myself.”

“You’re talking about yourself now,” Eren observed, a little amused despite his confusion.  “Why are you telling me this anyway?”

“You seem different,” Annie admitted.  She stared at his face, her blue eyes thoughtful.  “This isn’t my first safe house; I was in two others before this.”

“O-oh?” Eren said, unsure where she was going with the conversation.

Annie hummed and continued, “I met a couple other Storks, and it’s the same with all of us.  Unwinds are basically second class, since their bodies don’t even legally belong to them, and Storks?  Well. . .”  Her face twisted into something like a humorless grin.  “If tithes like your friend” – she nodded towards Jean – “are basically _gentry_ , then Storks are the lowest of the low.”

“Even with other Unwinds?”

“ _Especially_ with other Unwinds.”  Annie grimaced, gaze swiveling over to Reiner and Bertolt.  “Kids from state homes are pretty close though, but state homes _exist_ for unwanted children.  And Storking is just. . .”

“Bullshit?” Eren offered at her hesitation.

Annie gifted him with a small, private smile.  “Yeah, it’s bullshit.”

* * *

Pacing between the walls, which just seemed to creep closer every time he traversed the distance, eventually became infuriatingly dull, and watching Reiner do countless push-ups by the stairs made Eren even antsier.

So when Levi next came bearing a meal and news (a clapper blew up the entrance to a harvest camp outside of Stohess and at least ten Unwinds were reported AWOL), Eren demanded a soccer ball.

Levi looked at him skeptically.  “You want to be heard, brat?”

“No,” Eren said quickly, heart sinking.

“We can test it at night,” Jean suggested, eyes sparking interestedly.  “You stay upstairs and we kick it around.”

Levi glanced between the two of them, then shrugged.  “All right,” he conceded, “we’ll try it tomorrow night.”

After he left, Eren glanced at Jean, surprised.  “You’ll play?”

“Yeah,” Jean said, nodding.  “I’m getting too fucking bored.”

Eren grinned.  “Great.”

“But I’m warning you, Eren,” Jean continued, tone suddenly ominous, “I’m pretty fucking good.”

Eren rolled his eyes.  “We’ll see.”

For the time being, Eren and Jean talked idly, their conversation diminishing every so often when Eren stood to continue his pacing and Jean doodled whatever on his notepad.

“What are you drawing?” Eren asked, standing over him.

Jean looked up, cheeks tinted pink.  “Um.”

“Come on, I want to see,” Eren pressed, smirking.  He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers expectantly.

Jean glanced between the offered hand and Eren’s face.  He seemed to consider it, chewing on his lip, then shook his head.

Eren decided on a different tactic.  He squatted so that he was face to face with Jean, leaning towards him.  They were close, too close probably, but Eren was determined, even as the only things separating them were Jean’s knees pulled up to his face.

“Back off,” Jean hissed, pressing himself against the wall.

“Not till you show me what you’re drawing.”

They stared at each other, Jean scowling and eyes wide, Eren smirking.  He knew he was making Jean uncomfortable, if his blush and tense shoulders were any indication, but he was determined.

Jean sighed and turned his notebook around.  But before Eren could see anything, he jerked it forward and swatted Eren in the face with it.

“Ah, shit!” Eren cursed, reeling backwards and clutching his nose.

“You were asking for it, dumbass,” Jean retorted, sliding the notebook behind him, between the wall and his own body.  He stretched his legs out in front of him, smirking as Eren rubbed his nose.

Once Eren was satisfied that his nose was neither bleeding nor broken, he glared at Jean, at his amused expression.

“Babies,” Annie mumbled from nearby.

“Stork,” Jean muttered irritably under his breath, low enough that she wouldn’t hear.

But Eren caught it and, after a quick glance at Annie, socked Jean in the shoulder.

* * *

“Do you have anything against Storks?” Eren asked Jean later.

“No, ‘course not,” Jean replied easily, with a confused glance at him.

“Then why—“

“I don’t know,” Jean interrupted, shrugging.  “I guess I was just pissed.  When you’re pissed, you insult someone, right?  It doesn’t matter if you believe in the insult or not.”

Eren gaped at him.  “You feel _guilty_ ,” he realized.

Jean flushed but neither confirmed nor denied.

“You _do_ ,” Eren said, snickering.  Then, seriously, he suggested, “You should apologize.”

“For calling her a Stork?” Jean said, incredulous.  “But if it’s the truth—“

“You just said it yourself, right?  You used it as an insult; therefore it’s an insult.”

Jean eyed him suspiciously.  “When did you grow a brain?”

“When did you grow balls?” Eren retorted quickly.  “Oh, that’s right.”  He tapped a finger to his chin, pretending to think.  “You _haven’t_.”  He angled his head towards Annie and raised an eyebrow.  “Come on; I refuse to sit anywhere near you till you apologize.”

“Why the fuck would I want you to sit near me?” Jean inquired, although he didn’t sound like he meant it.  He sighed and got to his feet, padding over to Annie.

Eren watched them speak briefly, in low voices, Jean’s face turning steadily redder as Annie smirked up at him.  He hid his own smile behind his hand, and when Jean returned, looking distinctly _defeated_ , Eren teased, “So that wasn’t so bad.”

Jean heavily sat down beside him, sinking even further to the ground till he was lying on the concrete, hair sticking up in all directions.  “Told you she’s a Stork,” he said, his tone barely hinting at smugness.

Eren rolled his eyes and sat on his hands, disturbed by the sudden urge to reach out and run his fingers through the other Unwind’s untidy hair.

* * *

Levi returned the following evening with a soccer ball, as promised.  He passed it to Eren and wordlessly retreated back up the stairs.

Eren lost no time in testing it out, pleased with how stiff it felt under his foot.  He dribbled it between his feet, weaving around the cellar, around Bertolt’s napping form, around where Jean stood, tapping his foot impatiently for his turn.

Eren kicked it to him, as hard as he could, and was unsurprised when he flinched and jumped away; the ball instead sailed over the floor and hit the wall behind him with a dull _thud_.

“I’m pretty sure I talk louder than that,” Eren observed, crossing his arms as the ball rolled back towards him.

“Yeah,” Jean agreed, smirking at him.

Eren rolled his eyes and went to retrieve the ball.

Levi didn’t return at all to rebuke them that night, and Eren took that as a sign that his and Jean’s idea was actually successful.

Naturally, they both had too much energy to _not_ take advantage of this opportunity, and naturally, their roommates expressed their chagrin.

“It’s bad enough when you’re doing that weird flirty bickering thing,” Reiner complained from his sleeping bag, “but now you have to add _other_ loud noises?”

Eren didn’t hear anything after ‘flirty’.  “What?” he said, flabbergasted.  “I don’t flirt with that asshole.”  He pointed at Jean and kicked the ball in his direction.

Jean scowled at him and retorted, “Like I’d _want_ you to flirt with me.”  He caught the ball easily, trapping it between his ankles.

Eren glowered at him, ignoring Reiner’s exclamation of, “Just fucking go to sleep!”

Oblivious to the others’ attempt at sleeping, Eren and Jean continued to pass the ball back and forth, exchanging snide remarks between bouts of silence.

“So what position did you play?” Eren asked Jean, twitching the ball forward before lobbing it to the other boy with the inside of his foot.

It almost sailed past Jean, but he was fast, slowing it down with one foot while stilling it with the other.  “I was a defender,” he told Eren.  “What about you?”

“I played forward.”  He watched as Jean dribbled the ball for a few seconds before passing it to him.  Then, grinning coyly, he inquired, “So want to play keep away when these jerks are actually awake?”

Jean smirked.  “You have no fucking clue what you’re getting into.”

* * *

Barely exhausted from simply kicking a soccer ball back and forth, Eren leaned against the wall, Jean sitting beside him in companionable silence.

For all their antagonism, Eren’s glad, glad that he could _probably_ call Jean his friend, even if they weren’t brought together by ideal circumstances, glad that Jean trusted him, that he trusted Jean.

It was nice having someone to trust, especially since Mikasa and Armin were so far out of reach.

“Hey, Eren?”

Eren glanced over, at Jean’s shadowed face.  He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Do you ever get homesick?”

Eren’s jaw fell slack, shocked.  “What?  No, of course not,” he said once he’d recovered.  “It was my dad that signed my life away; why the fuck would I get _homesick_?”

Jean shrugged, then admitted, “I kind of feel homesick now.”

Eren didn’t know if disgust or sympathy was more appropriate, but both mingled unpleasantly in his abdomen.  “Why?”

“Why don’t _you_?” Jean retorted.  “I know it doesn’t make sense, but I grew up with my family, so I miss them, right?”

Eren nodded, slowly.  “All right, fine,” he said, “but I _don’t_ miss my dad.  My friends, though. . .”  He sighed, Mikasa’s and Armin’s faces swimming in his mind, wondering what they’d say or do if they were here.  Armin would probably try to converse with Annie about her books, with Levi about the Scouts; Mikasa would stay close to Eren, glaring at Jean every time he opened his mouth, whether it was an insult or not.

It was both a comforting and a disconcerting thought.

“What about your mom?” Jean wondered.  “You never talk about her.”

Eren glanced at him, briefly before fixing his gaze on the floor in front of them.  “She’s dead,” he said, tone almost casual even though he could feel his heart twist.  He rarely considered his mother anymore, except to wonder how his life would be different, if his father would’ve still signed the Unwind papers.

“Oh, uh, sorry then,” Jean said.

Eren shrugged, nonchalant.  “It’s, uh, it’s whatever I guess.”

Jean snorted, skeptical, but didn’t press.  “I hate that I’m homesick though,” he said, regretful.  “I hate, well, shouldn’t I hate my parents for this?”

“Probably,” Eren conceded.  _Yes._

“But I don’t, and I wish I did, because that would make everything easier, right?”

“Like I fucking know,” Eren muttered, burying his nose in between his knees.

“You should!” Jean emphasized, waving his hand irritably.  “You sound like you do!”

Eren nodded.  “I do,” he agreed, “but maybe it’s different for everyone.  Did you ask Annie if she hates _her_ ‘parents’?  If she’s homesick?”

“No, but she fucking scares me.”

Eren chuckled.  “Okay, fair enough.”

Eren watched Jean continue to talk about his family with a kind of detachment.  He wanted to reach out and comfort him, wanted to return the favor from before, when he’d eased Eren out of his own anxiety, from the claustrophobia and the nightmare, but he was at a loss.

Eren had never been good at offering comfort.  He remembered when Mikasa’s father died during a home invasion gone wrong, how he’d wrapped a scarf around her neck with an awkward excuse about the cold.  He recalled Armin’s grandfather’s funeral, how he’d just patted him on the back and offered him a hug while tears dripped from his eyes.

And now Eren was just as helpless to comfort Jean.  All he could do was listen and watch his mouth shape around his words.

A punch to the gut and a squeeze to the chest later, and Eren _really_ wanted to kiss Jean, to offer solace with _that_.  And the need was almost physical; he licked his lips self-consciously, aware of the sudden heat on his face.  He’d never, in his short teenage life, wanted this much to kiss someone, and _why_ it was an asshole he’d met just _days_ ago when both their lives were in danger was beyond reasoning.

But Jean helped pull Eren from the brink of a panic attack. . .

Eren swallowed.  Maybe it was just a sudden infatuation brought on by that, by their tenuous camaraderie.

He didn’t realize he’d leaned towards Jean till he felt his breath against his cheek and heard a quiet, confused, “Eren?”

Eren opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and leapt back when he saw that the gap between them had shrunken considerably.  “Sorry, falling asleep,” he lied quickly.

Jean gave him a skeptical look.  “I’ll shut up then,” he said, sounding a little hurt.

“No, it’s fine,” Eren reassured him.  As long as Jean wasn’t insulting or commanding him, he could handle his voice and the words that came with it.

As Jean shot him one last concerned look, Eren acknowledged that he was definitely fucked.

* * *

The last time Eren played one-on-one soccer was against Mikasa, and she had well and truly throttled him, frequently tripping over her feet as well as his own, holding the ball for half a second before she was once more on top of him, stealing it and taking it off down towards his end of the field and scoring before he could even comprehend what happened.  Eren wasn’t easily embarrassed, but Mikasa well and thoroughly humiliated him.

Playing against Jean in a cellar that didn’t come close to replacing an open, grassy field was even worse, and it wasn’t because he was a better player than Eren.

Truthfully, they were evenly matched, taking turns snatching the ball away from each, until they started playing dirty when Eren grabbed Jean’s arm and jerked him away from the ball.

“Hey, you fuck!” Jean swore when Eren dribbled the ball away towards the bathroom doorway (one of the designated goals), cackling.

Eren kicked it cleanly through, turning to smirk at Jean when he heard it make impact against the shower curtain.  He went and retrieved the ball, picking it up in hand, and when he returned, Reiner was laughing uproariously, head tilted back, at Jean’s murderous expression.

“It’s just a game, Jean,” Bertolt consoled from nearby.

He ignored them, instead pointing at Eren and shouting, “You cheated!”

Eren shrugged, nonchalant.  “Not if there’s no ref here to card me.”

Jean’s face drained, but his anger quickly morphed into glee.  “Well, fine, if you want to play like _that_.”

“Bring it on,” Eren goaded, tossing him the ball and repositioning himself so that he was between Jean and the stairs, the other goal.

Jean caught the ball and dropped it to the ground, holding it underfoot.  His eyes flitted around the cellar, as if he was coordinating the best possible strategy, before he stared at Eren.

Eren stared back, feeling his face flush involuntarily.  He narrowed his eyes, shifting his feet, waiting.  “So?”

Jean shot forward, deftly kicking the ball between his feet.  He leaned towards Eren’s right and changed direction at the last minute, but he’d assumed he would feint and was there when Jean knocked into him with all of his weight.

They went down, Eren gasping when he landed painfully on his back and flinching after Jean landed on top of him.

“Ow, fuck,” Jean complained.

“Shut up, I broke your fall,” Eren retorted breathlessly.  His heart beat rapidly, and it wasn’t from exertion.  Jean was too close, way too close, his breath billowing against his face.  He smacked his shoulder and said, “Get the fuck off.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jean agreed, quickly and smoothly getting to his feet.  He offered Eren a hand.

Eren sat up, rubbing the back of his head; he thought he could feel a lump forming under his sweaty hair.  Then, he glanced up at Jean, standing over him with a hand out, his face as impossibly red as Eren’s likely was, panting slightly from exertion, t-shirt plastered to his torso.

Eren rejected the hand, stood up on his own, uncomfortably since he ached all over from the fall, not to mention he had an unfortunate problem that needed to be taken care of.

Jean scowled at him and stiffly crossed his arms, as if personally offended that Eren hadn’t accepted his help.  “Why’re you so red?” he asked Eren.

“I’m not red,” Eren immediately denied, although he was sure the heat on his face begged to differ.  “Why are _you_ so fucking red?”

“I was _exercising_ , dumbass,” Jean retorted.

“Well, so was I!”

“Then why’d you lie about being red?”

“Because—“

“Oh, just get a room,” Annie interrupted from her corner.

Eren and Jean both spun around to face her, to see her semi-bored gaze appraising them from over her omnipresent book.  Eren vaguely wondered if this was what being on fire felt like.

“I’m taking a shower,” he announced to no one.  Turning on his heel, he retreated to the bathroom and locked himself inside.

* * *

Eren soon realized that avoiding someone in a small, crowded cellar was difficult.

Even as he left the bathroom, his heart sufficiently slow and both his mind and body sufficiently clean, Jean approached him, demanding to know why he’d just stormed off.

“Um, I, uh—“  _I really fucking like you and I also think you’re really fucking hot and it’s actually a fucking problem now._

Well, he definitely couldn’t say all of that, and he wished he could cover his mouth, bite his hand, anything to keep the words from spilling out.

“You two really stank,” Annie then input from her corner.  She waved a hand in front of her nose, scrunching her face almost imperceptibly.  “You still do, Jean.”

Jean scowled at her.  “My turn then,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes and walking past Eren, but not without knocking his shoulder roughly into his.

Eren glared after Jean ( _maybe not everything’s changed_ ), this time barely distracted by the way his sweat-dampened t-shirt clung to the lean muscles on his back.

Annie cleared her throat, and Eren turned to look at her, blushing, even as she raised an eyebrow at him and, after marking her place, closed her book.  It was an open invitation to sit with her, and Eren would be foolish to refuse it.

“So what’s going on?” she inquired.

“Oh, you know,” Eren said, trying for nonchalance, “we’re a bunch of AWOL Unwinds stuck in a cellar and we’re at each other’s throats like this is fucking _Lord of the Flies_.”

“There’s more,” Annie stated, silently urging him to continue.

“Uh, is there?”

“Are you really as much of an idiot as Jean claims?”

Eren scowled at her.

“What’s your relationship with him anyway?” Annie pressed, actually sounding curious.  Eren opened his mouth to retort angrily, but before he could, she added, “Are you even friends?”

He narrowed his eyes at her and shrugged.  “Maybe, maybe not.”

“Well, if you really want him, figure that part out first,” Annie suggested.

“H-hey—“

“Come on, Eren, you and I both know that the only people brave enough to clock homophobes are gay themselves.”

Eren rolled his eyes but didn’t contradict her.  “All right, so you figured it out.”

“It was obvious, even when you weren’t ogling Jean.”

“I wasn’t fucking _ogling_.”

Annie made a skeptical noise in the back of her throat.  “I’m a girl,” she commented mildly.  “I know ogling when I see it.”  Then she jerked her head over to the side.

Eren followed her gaze over to see Jean emerging from the bathroom, hair soaked with water rather than sweat and dressed in something clean.

“You can always tell him you like him,” Annie suggested idly.

Eren gaped at her.  “No.”

“Suit yourself.”  With that, she opened her book again, lifting it to her face, their conversation apparently ended.

Whether Eren confessed or not, avoiding Jean wasn’t the solution to this particular problem, not to mention that it was the last thing he wanted to do.  So he left Annie and retreated to his usual spot, leaning against the wall and grabbing a wayward deck of cards.

“So is your new problem anything like your old problem?” Jean inquired once he sat next to Eren.

He glanced over at him, biting his lip thoughtfully.  “What the fuck was my _old_ problem?”

“Oh, you know, ‘I’m an Unwind and the world hates me’,” Jean replied, waving his hand dismissively.

Eren laughed.  “Isn’t that everyone here’s problem?”

Jean grinned.  “Yeah, I guess it is.”  Then, his face immediately morphing into seriousness, he pressed, “ _Is_ there a new problem?”

Eren shrugged and looked away.  “Yeah, I guess,” he admitted, “but I don’t really want to talk about it.”

He felt Jean’s gaze on him, even thought he could feel the ghost of an exhalation against his ear.  “All right,” Jean said, tone resigned.

Eren’s gut clenched when he heard the unexpected hurt.

* * *

“Do you ever think about going home?”

Eren looked up from his food, astonished at the random question.  Jean was watching him, gaze somber but curious.

“Not really,” he admitted.  “Why?  Do you?”

“Yeah, all the fucking time,” Jean confessed, running his fingers through his messy hair.

Eren waited for him to elaborate.  A part of him understood, especially considering Jean’s earlier homesickness, but he didn’t really sympathize.

“It’s just, what if we make it to eighteen, huh?  What then?”

Eren heard the uncertainty in his voice, wanted to either smack it or hug it out of him, or both.  “We’ll make it,” he said confidently.

“Look, just because we’re safe _now_ ,” Jean pointed out, “doesn’t mean it’ll stay that way.  And I’d go insane if I have to stay here for two and a half more years, and I’m not even claustrophobic.”

Eren squirmed uncomfortably, reluctant to concede that he had a point.

“Anyway, don’t you want to confront your dad?  Ask why he did it?”

Eren bit the inside of his cheek, thinking.  “I already know why,” he told Jean.

“Yeah, the fights or whatever,” Jean said, rolling his eyes, “but did he ever tell you that was why?  Or did you just assume?”  He glared at Eren with a weird intensity, insistent.

“What the fuck else would it be?” Eren retorted, gesturing at nothing.

“I don’t know!” Jean shot back.  “I mean, you never know.  You said your mom’s dead, right?  Maybe you look too much like her and he can’t stand that.”  Eren opened his mouth to argue, but Jean immediately cut him off, “It’s still an awful reason, I know that.  But still. . .”

“Why are you trying so hard to justify it?” Eren wondered.

“I don’t know,” Jean said dejectedly.  “My brother was supposed to be a tithe, so I guess whatever he got programmed with got wired into my brain too.”

“That’s stupid,” Eren commented quietly.

“You’re telling me,” Jean scoffed.

“So how come you’re not ‘brainwashed’ then?  If you grew up in a rich family with a tithe?”

Jean shrugged, gaze thoughtful.  “I guess my friends were the sort that would’ve ended up Unwound if their parents weren’t so fucking oblivious.”  He smirked slightly.  “Maybe they counteracted mine.”

They fell silent, Eren with his legs stretched out, glancing around the small, poorly lit space, at Annie sitting alone in the corner, at Reiner and Bertolt muttering to each other by the stairs.

“My last fight,” Eren then said, “was when a girl didn’t show up to school.  The asshole whose nose I broke said she was getting Unwound because her parents found out she’s a ‘fag’.”

He could feel Jean’s eyes on him, and was unsurprised when he said, “You mentioned that already.”

“I know,” Eren said.

“Then what—“

“Before I kicked AWOL, I left a note for my dad telling him why I got into that fight, and that I’m a fag too.”

At the admission, Eren heard a sharp intake of breath from Jean.

He added, “I asked him if he would’ve sent me off to be Unwound for that too.  But I guess I’m never gonna get an answer, and I don’t think I want one.”

Eren didn’t look at his companion until his hand gripped his shoulder.  “What?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“You just look like you need a hug,” Jean observed.  He wrapped an arm around Eren’s back, pulling him into a half-embrace.

Eren’s heart picked up its pace.  He snorted at Jean’s words but couldn’t help the smile that threatened to curl his lips.

He was relieved that Jean didn’t react when Eren rested his head on the taller Unwind’s shoulder.

* * *

“Time to go.”

The low voice jolted Eren from sleep, and he lifted his head and faced the stairs, spotting Levi standing at the bottom and nudging, or kicking, Bertolt.

“Time to go where?” Reiner asked, his deep voice thick with sleep.

“Wherever,” Levi snapped.  “Now come on, they don’t have all morning.”  He disappeared back up the stairs, leaving the Unwinds to disentangle themselves from sleeping bags and follow.

Eren rubbed his eyes and sat up, glancing around at his roommates.  Annie was already halfway up the stairs, pink backpack slung over her shoulder, while Reiner and Bertolt stood around in varying states of wakefulness.

Beside him, Jean was on his feet, shoving them into his sneakers, although judging from the muttered curses falling from his lips, he wasn’t too pleased by Levi’s wakeup call.

Eren stifled a grin and stood, grabbing his backpack from nearby, relieved to be on the move once he, with Jean right behind him, made his way up the stairs and through the narrow cabinet ‘passage’.

“How the fuck did Reiner and Bertolt get through here?” Jean hissed irritably.

Eren heard a muffled cry of pain behind him, followed by Reiner’s ironic shout of, “Very carefully!”

“What, did you bump your head, Jean?” Eren shot over his shoulder, half teasing, as he pulled himself into the familiar bookstore break room.

Jean emerged a few seconds later, scowling and rubbing his head.  He glared at Eren.

That was all the reply Eren needed; he smirked at the taller boy, for once grateful for his rather short stature.

“Come on, brats,” Levi said, waving them towards a door on the opposite wall.  They followed him through the door and into a narrow back alley.

Eren stood there blinking for a moment, smiling as he reacquainted himself with the feeling of air moving across his skin, with the sight of the deep blue, predawn sky.

“Why’re you grinning like an idiot?” Jean asked from beside him.

Eren tilted his face towards him, frowning, until Jean’s pale skin turned pink.  “Oh, right,” he said, sounding embarrassed.  “I forgot.”

“Lucky you,” Eren deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

Then he noticed the white delivery truck waiting, a tall blonde man with a scruffy beard and mustache leaning against it.  “Is this all of them, Levi?” he asked.

“Yes,” Levi replied, tone clipped.  He looked at each Unwind in turn, something in his usual disinterested gaze softening.  “These brats are all yours, Mike.”

The strange man smirked slightly and walked around the side of the truck.  “Climb in,” he commanded as he pushed the back door open.

There were already several kids crowded into the narrow space.  Eren’s mind blanked with dread, his relief at being outside evaporating.

“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Yeah,” Jean agreed with a sigh.  “These fucking Scouts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:  
> Stork - a baby is 'Storked' when the parent(s) leave it on someone's doorstep; if they're not caught, they become the baby's legal guardian  
> Clapper - a terrorist with nitroglycerin infused in their bloodstream, claps to release explosive force
> 
> Questions? Let me know. (Or read the book, 'cause it's pretty damn good.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warehouse shenanigans including arguing and angst.
> 
> (It's been so long since I wrote this.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only tagging characters that have a fairly significant role, so, yeah.

In the back of the truck, Eren quickly lost track of the passing minutes, how they morphed into hours. . .

“Has daylight savings ended yet?” Jean asked randomly, bursting through Eren’s reverie.

Eren couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see anything really.  He was only aware of the wall pressing against his back, of the close quarters of the truck and the bodies inside with him, of Annie sitting a few inches to his right, of Jean at his left, voice close enough to his ear to make him shiver.

“It probably ended a long time ago,” Annie informed him.

They fell silent again, mundane conversation not enough to cover up the sound of the truck’s tires rumbling over road, of the whole trailer rattling, of other, muted voices filling the trailer.  Eren kept his body furled into a tight, upright ball, trying to stay as still as possible so he wouldn’t fall into anyone as the truck lurched over bumps.

“How long do you think we’ve been here?” Jean wondered, once more tugging Eren from his thoughts.

Eren darted his unseeing eyes in his direction.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “Feels like five, but maybe it’s more like one hour.  Where do you think we’re going?”

“No idea.  Another safe house, maybe?”

“You could stand to be patient, for once,” Eren quipped, surprised by how mild his own tone seemed.

“Hypocrite,” Jean grumbled.

“Asshole,” Eren retorted, tapping his fingertips against his leg.  His shoulders tensed, a little too conscious of Jean’s presence, and why did it seem like he was getting even _closer_.

“Eren, are you okay?” Jean whispered directly into his ear.

“I’m fine,” Eren lied, flinching and sliding away from him ever so slightly.

“Are you going to have a, uh, a. . .”

“Panic attack?” Eren supplied.

A pause, then Jean said, “Yeah.”

“I don’t think so,” Eren admitted, “but you crowding me isn’t helping.”

“Right, sorry,” Jean muttered, sounding sheepish, and Eren felt him slinking away.

And for all the discomfort he suffered when Jean sat too close, he found he liked it even less when he was just out of reach.

* * *

Eventually, the motion of the truck lulled Eren into a doze.  His head rolled to the side, resting uncomfortably on his own shoulder, and he reminisced numbly about his friends. . .

About how Mikasa pulled him away from fights before, and sometimes after, they started.

About how Armin tutored him in subjects he struggled with.

About how he and Mikasa scared the bullies that targeted Armin away from him.

About how Mikasa earned a B+ on a chemistry test and freaked out, thinking her parents would have her Unwound, and about how both he and Armin reassured her that they wouldn’t, that would be insane, her parents would never do something like that for such a trivial discretion.

He didn’t realize he’d actually fallen asleep until someone prodded him in the arm, and he bolted upright, glancing around frantically at the darkness still filling the truck.  “The fuck?” he mumbled, yawning.

“You were fucking _drooling_ on me,” Jean complained from beside him.

“What?  I wasn’t even fucking _sleeping_ on you,” Eren shot back, matching his tone.

A hand gripped his wrist and guided it to a shoulder.  Sure enough, there was a sticky, damp spot on the fabric there.

Eren’s face was warm, and he was glad that the truck was too dark to see anything.  He had _not_ meant to fall asleep on someone else, let alone Jean.  “Sorry,” he quickly said, wrenching his arm from Jean’s grip.

“For using my shoulder as a pillow, or for drooling on it?”

“Um, both?”

Jean huffed.  “I don’t mind you sleeping on me,” he said irritably, “but the second you fucking start _drooling_ , I’m waking you up.  You know, for future reference.”

Eren’s heart rate picked up at Jean’s words.  Well, maybe he _would_ take advantage of that. . .  “Thanks,” he said, feeling a little awkward as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Jean snorted, presumably in disgust, and Eren could hear the plucking sound of him lifting up his sleeve.  Then, voice considerably softer than it had been before, he added, “You also talk in your sleep.”

Eren hid his face in the crook of his elbow, and he wasn’t sure if it was to needlessly hide his hot face or his ridiculous smile.

* * *

When the truck finally rolled to a stop more permanent than a gas refill required, Eren couldn’t help sighing in relief.  It also didn’t help that his stomach growled, and he could feel the eyes of the truck’s other occupants on him.

Jean laughed openly, his mirth filling the tense silence with a warmth that had been distinctly lacking, and even Annie let out a soft, uncharacteristic giggle.

Eren punched them both in the shoulder, unable to keep his own face from splitting into a grin.

“Are you hungry, Eren?” Jean inquired almost teasingly.

“Starving,” he replied.  “We’ve been in here for too fucking long.”

Jean made a noise of assent beside him, and maybe would’ve said something too, if the door to the truck hadn’t slid open, revealing a dark silhouette surrounded by a blinding sunset.

“I guess we now know how long we’ve been in this truck,” Eren, blinking at the sudden brightness, muttered to Jean.

“Too fucking long,” Jean supplied at the same time Eren input, “All fucking day.”  They made quick eye contact, until Jean broke it, blushing and fixing his eyes back to where the silhouette, Mike, was guiding Unwinds out of the truck.

Eren still stared at him, admiring the red in his pale cheeks and the somewhat shy smile on his thin lips.  When Annie, still standing beside him, loudly cleared her throat, he shook his head, trying to clear it of whatever spell he was under.

Eren jumped down from the truck first and took the opportunity to glance around, eyeing the barren landscape.  They seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, and right in front of a giant warehouse.

“This will be your home for a little while,” Mike announced once all the Unwinds were out of his truck.

“For how long?” Jean asked.

“For as long as necessary,” Mike replied simply.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Jean hissed under his breath.

Eren shrugged, listening as Mike continued, “Please obey whatever orders the Scouts here give you, and. . .”

Eren tuned his low voice and all other noises, even Jean’s irritable curses and the other hushed conversations going on around him.  He inhaled the clean air around him, savoring it, because he knew that as long he was in this warehouse, it would be much the same as Levi’s cellar.

* * *

It turned out that rumors travel like wildfire when one is trapped in the cellar of a bookstore for an indeterminate number of days, so fast that by the time Eren arrived at the Scouts’ warehouse, the Unwinds already present could be heard discussing the so-called Shiganshina AWOL.

“Eren, I think they’re talking about _you_ ,” Jean hissed to him as they eavesdropped.

“What?  Why the fuck would you think _that_?” Eren demanded.

“The ‘Shiganshina AWOL’, or whatever the fuck they’re calling him, shot a Juvie cop with his own tranq gun.”  Jean leveled him with a look that screamed, _‘Eren is an idiot.’_

Eren rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, well, I was trying to survive,” he said, shrugging.  “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it fucking is,” Jean retorted.  “We’re, like, taught to be _afraid_ of Juvie cops; if one of _us_ shoots one of _them_ , it’s a fucking _coup_.”

Eren looked at him skeptically.  “I don’t know. . .”

“Look, if you think you don’t deserve this attention,” Jean continued thoughtfully, “you’re probably right.”

“Asshole,” Eren muttered.

“I mean, you were desperate,” Jean added, ignoring Eren’s insult.  “You did it without thinking.”

“If you’re trying to suggest that I can’t fucking _think_ —“

“Don’t be so sensitive, Eren,” Jean interrupted, scowling.  “I’m just saying that you did it on impulse, and maybe that’s a good thing.  Maybe that’s how we’ll survive.”

Eren glanced at him, at his contemplative expression, a look that reminded him irresistibly of Armin.  _He_ ’d know what to do. . .

As it turned out, Jean himself was known amongst the others as the tithe that the Shiganshina AWOL ‘rescued’, although the way it played out in the stories spreading around, it sounded more like a ‘heroic kidnapping’.

Jean, predictably, was not pleased.

“But if you were ‘rescued’, wouldn’t that mean you were the damsel in distress?” Eren wondered.  He didn’t even bother to hide his smirk.

Jean glowered at him.  “Yeah, but I’d rather be a fucking _damsel_ than _forced_.  At least then it would sound like I _wanted_ to not be Unwound.  Regular Unwinds don’t like tithes, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Oh, Eren noticed, noticed from the cellar when Reiner first insulted Jean, noticed the glowers and snide remarks directed at him once it became common knowledge in the warehouse.  And he noticed the way Jean’s eyes seemed to harden, how his scowl twisted his otherwise handsome face more and more often.

“And you thought _I_ was sensitive,” Eren muttered, tugging Jean away from a silent staring contest with a boy twice his size.

Surprisingly, or maybe not, Annie appeared at Eren’s shoulder from time to time, encouraging him to keep his ‘boyfriend’ from picking fights.

“I _am_ ,” Eren complained, watching Jean chat – actually _chat_ for once – with another Unwind.  Then, he registered all of Annie’s words and, face practically aflame, retorted, “And he’s not my boyfriend!”

Annie gave him a slight smirk as if to say she didn’t believe him, then admitted, “I know how he feels though.  People look at you differently if they find out you’re a Stork.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I know, but it’s how it is.”  Annie shrugged, as if uncaring.  “Your biological parents didn’t want you, and your adopted parents don’t want you.  Why would anyone else?”

Eren narrowed his eyes at her.  “Don’t you have friends?”

“I’ve mostly kept to myself,” she informed him, glancing around the warehouse at the various clusters of AWOL Unwinds.  Then, with a shy smile darting across her face so fast Eren thought he imagined it, she added, “I consider you my friend.”

Eren’s eyes widened, and his own grin twisted his lips.  “I’m happy to hear it,” he said, entirely truthfully.

“Well, go greet your fans,” Annie chided, nodding at a couple of Unwinds that were staring curiously at Eren.

Eren looked at them, then back at Annie, only to see that she’d disappeared amongst the crowd of teenagers.  _I thought you were my friend._   He faced the others that approached him and answered their questions, if a bit reluctantly, wishing that Jean was present to deter them.

* * *

In the evenings after the Scouts served dinner, Eren and Jean sequestered themselves in a corner of the warehouse.  On occasion, they were joined by Annie, who mostly read one of the books Levi had given her or listened to their conversation, or Marco, another Unwind whom Jean managed to befriend.

(“You have _friends_?” Eren teased, gasping.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jean retorted.  “I could say the same about you.”  He tapped a pocket in Eren’s backpack, indicating his wallet and the photo within.)

This evening though, they were alone and silent.  Eren glanced around the warehouse, at the knots of Unwinds and the Scouts scattered throughout.  He idly scratched his scalp, trying to ignore the feeling of Jean’s arm brushing against his.

“You want to join the Scouts, don’t you?” Jean finally said.

Eren darted his eyes over to him, holding his piercing gaze.  He nodded, clenching his fists.

“Why?” Jean wondered, quirking an eyebrow as if he was genuinely confused.

Eren rolled his eyes.  “Why do you think?  It’s like Levi said:  it’s not enough just to hide AWOL Unwinds till they turn eighteen.”

“I know, but. . .” Jean trailed off, sighing.  “I don’t trust these Scouts.”

“What?”  Eren turned his head fully to gape at him.  “Why?”

Jean grimaced sheepishly, his face turning pink under Eren’s scrutiny ( _wow it’s easy to make him blush_ ).  “It’s just that I’ve tried asking at least five of them about. . .”  He waved his hand.  “Well, whatever.”

“Okay?”  Eren poked his thigh.  “Continue.”

“I asked one about what’s next, because this warehouse seems like another interim place.”

“And he didn’t tell you anything?”  Eren cocked his head to the side.

Jean eyed him, looking almost amused, but said, “He just said it was ‘none of my fucking business’.  I argued with him, because it _is_ my _fucking business,_ but then he just walked away.  I would’ve gone after him and, I don’t know, knocked sense into him, but Marco held me back.”

Eren was curious about where he was during all of this, but simply listened as Jean continued:

“I tried asking another, ‘cause she seemed nicer, and she was, but she just told me that I ‘didn’t need to know’.  What bullshit.”  Jean snorted, wrapping his arms around his legs.  “After that, I asked them more general questions.”

“Like. . .?”

“Well, all the Scouts here look pretty young, so I asked a few if they used to be AWOL Unwinds too.  They just looked at me like I was a dumb little kid.”

“You probably are a dumb little kid,” Eren muttered.  When Jean shot him an irritated glance, he hurriedly added, “To them, I mean.”

“I asked one what his name is,” Jean added.  “Wouldn’t even tell me that.”  He scowled.

Eren wanted to reach out and press his fingertips against the wrinkles on Jean’s forehead, to offer him a consoling hug, to hold his hand, or. . .something that involved touching.  So he bumped Jean’s shoulder with his own, smiling a bit when he looked over at him.

“They’re probably not telling us in case we get caught or something,” Jean said, shrugging.  “Or, I don’t know, maybe someone here would sell us out.”

Eren rolled his eyes.  “I don’t think it would be an Unwind, not when we have so much to lose.”

Jean glared at him, as if silently rebuking him for his naïve thinking.  “Eren, it would be _because_ we have so much to lose.”

“I don’t follow.”

“No, you’re an idiot, you wouldn’t.”

Eren scowled and threw his closed fist at Jean’s shoulder.  “Then _explain_ it to me, asshole.”

Jean rubbed his offended joint, grumbling swears under his breath, but explained, “I don’t know how flexible the Juvie cops are, but what if they brokered a deal with an Unwind?  They’d go free, if they handed in a fucking load more of Unwinds _and_ the Scouts and their secret headquarters and their leader, because they gotta have a leader, wherever those are.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Eren, what’s better to you?  Freedom _now_ , or freedom _later_ in two and a half years?”

“You know—“

“Eren, you’re not fucking _listening_ ,” Jean continued, frustrated.  He ran his fingers through his hair and fidgeted agitatedly.  “Look, I know _you_ would choose freedom later, but until you turn eighteen, your life is gonna fucking _suck_.”

“I know that,” Eren retorted.

“And if you go free _now_ , you could probably go back to school, and your life would be pretty much set.”

“What does that have to do—“

“What kind of life are we even gonna have if we make it to eighteen like this?” Jean inquired, sounding hopeless.

“ _When_ we make it to eighteen,” Eren insisted.

“Fine.”  He rolled his eyes, then continued, “But we’re fifteen-year-old dropouts.  It’s not like we know how to survive on our own.  How do we get jobs?  What about _job satisfaction_?”

“You’re the only teenager I know who worries about that,” Eren scoffed, half teasing and half annoyed

“But it’s _important_ ,” Jean pressed.  “I mean, I don’t even know how to find a fucking derivative!”

“The fuck is a ‘derivative’?”

“Exactly!”

They fell silent, staring ahead at the other Unwinds, at their nighttime preparations, but Eren felt far from tired, especially as Jean said:

“I don’t even remember what my first point was.”

“You don’t trust the Scouts?” Eren informed him, glancing over.

Jean raised an eyebrow.  “Oh, yeah.  So you _were_ listening.”

“Of course I was fucking _listening_ ,” Eren scoffed.  “I always listen to what you have to say.”

It took him a few seconds for his own words to reach his ears, and it took even longer for them to reach Jean’s, if the flush on his face was any indication.  Eren’s own felt remarkably warm, and his jaw dropped, mirroring Jean’s astonished expression perfectly.

He quickly turned his head away, still conscious of Jean staring at the back of it.  “Um. . .”

“Th-thanks,” Jean said quickly.  “I’m, um, I’m glad.”

“G-good,” Eren stuttered.  He thought he could feel a tickle of breath on the back of his neck, or maybe a hand ghosting over his furled fist, but it was probably wishful thinking.

* * *

_Why why why._

Eren stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, rubbing his eyes as if that would get rid of the bruise-like black bags under them.  With a sigh, he did the only thing he could think of to wake himself up properly:  turned on the cold water tap and stuck his head into the stream.

He was tempted to yell his frustrations out, frustration at his father and the Unwind order, frustration at the Scouts and their vague purpose, frustration at being stuck in place again, frustration at Jean and his stupid crush on him. . .  He wanted to watch his problems fall into the sink and trickle through the drain, to drift away through the pipes off to the ocean Armin so admired, to pollute it like refuse.

Eren shut off the water and flipped his hair back, smiling slightly at the sound of drops flying through the air and hitting the walls.  He peeked through his overgrown bangs (Mikasa would force him to sit and give him a haircut if she could see) and almost laughed out loud at how they were plastered to his head.

Dripping water onto his shoulders, he left the bathroom and, ignoring the curious and confused looks shot his way, found Annie standing in line waiting for breakfast.

She barely glanced up at him and just wryly observed, “That’s a good look for you.”

Eren rolled his eyes and pushed his wet hair out of his face.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

Eren turned his head to see Jean gaping at him, and smirked.  “It’s raining outside; they let me out.”

“Ha, you fucking wish,” Jean retorted quickly, his mouth closing and returning his grin.  Then, it vanished.  “But seriously, what happened?”

“I was tired, so I used the magic of water to fix that.”

Jean frowned at him.  “Can’t have just taken a shower, dumbass?”

“Who says I didn’t?” Eren fired back.

“Your shoulders are wet, and you’re wearing the same clothes you slept in.”  Jean crossed his arms and leveled a deadpan expression at him, as if daring him to disagree.

Eren turned his back to him and grumbled, “Too fucking observant.”  He tugged on a strand of soaked hair, twining it around his finger.

They were at the front of the food line, and a Scout handed Eren a tray laden with a paper plate of fluffy (powdered) eggs, a bowl of dry corn flakes, and a carton of milk.

Once he sat leaning against the wall, he unenthusiastically prodded the already cold eggs with his fork, longing for Levi’s negligible cooking skills.  He opened the milk carton and poured it onto the cereal, and by the time Jean joined him, he was finishing up the last dregs of sugary liquid.

“Where did Annie go?” Jean wondered, tapping his own fork against his tray.

“No idea,” Eren told him.  She’d melted away by the time he received his food.

“Huh,” Jean said, the single syllable sounding oddly contemplative.

“What?”  Eren glanced sideways at him, then flicked his eyes towards Jean’s untouched cereal.  He reached out and stole a flake; when he didn’t react, he made to grasp the bowl, until Jean smacked his hand away.

“Seriously?” he scoffed.  “Eat your own damn food before you try to take mine.”

“I don’t like powdered eggs,” Eren told him.  He knew he was being petulant, but he was still exhausted and felt like making certain things known.

“I don’t either, but you don’t see me fucking complaining.”  Jean scooped up a forkful of yellow goop and stuffed it into his mouth.  He chewed intently for a few seconds, until disgust crossed his face and he seemed to gag.  He swallowed noticeably, smacking his lips as if trying to get rid of the taste.  “Needs salt,” he said simply before helping himself to more.

Eren watched the entire display with amusement, then tried to make some headway with his own eggs.

They ate in silence, at least until Jean said, “You know, I think Annie likes you.”

Eren almost choked on his awful eggs.  “W-what?”

“Well, think about it, for once,” Jean continued, ignoring the glare that Eren shot at him.  “If she’s with another human being, it’s you and me, and if she’s with you and me, she only really talks to you.”

Eren gaped at him.  “How is that a basis for. . .whatever?  Why would anyone like _you_ anyway?”  _I’m a fucking hypocrite._

Jean glowered but didn’t rise to the bait.  “We’re not talking about _me_ ,” he retorted.  “I mean, you should tell her that. . .”  He waved his hand, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“What, that I’m _gay_?” Eren said.  When Jean nodded, he grumbled, “She already _knows_ , asshole; she figured it out before I told _you_.”

Jean snorted.  “Okay th—“

“I didn’t know the Shiganshina AWOL was a fucking _fag_.”

Eren spun his head around and glared at the speaker, a short boy with wispy blonde hair.  “Oh?” he said, setting his breakfast tray aside and standing up, his and Jean’s conversation completely forgotten.  “So fucking what?”  He clenched his hands into fists, glaring.

The boy returned his glare.  “So I can’t believe I admired a fag,” he retorted venomously.

Eren wanted to jump him, and would’ve if Jean hadn’t grabbed his shoulder.  “Eren,” he muttered, voice calm.

He turned to glower at him.  “Let me go,” he said angrily, right as the boy melted away into the crowded warehouse.

Jean did, but not without commenting, “You don’t need to start fights just because you’re getting restless.”

“It’s not just restlessness,” Eren denied, pacing.  “He doesn’t have to – didn’t have to. . .”  He breathed heavily, trailing off when he caught the irritation on Jean’s face.  “What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Jean wondered, voice almost dangerously quiet.

“Isn’t _what_ why I’m here?” Eren challenged, crossing his arms.

“Because you got into one fight too many, right?  Because a dumbass at your school called a girl that probably ended up Unwound a ‘fag’, right?”

Eren narrowed his eyes at him.  “So what’s your point?”

“You’re AWOL now,” Jean reminded him.  “Time to grow the fuck up.  You can’t fucking punch someone just because they insult you.”

“Y-you’re a hypocrite!  What about getting all worked up because no one here likes _tithes,_ huh?”  Eren demanded.  When Jean glowered at him, he continued, “What, are you gonna call me a ‘fag’ too, Jean?”  Dread numbed his senses.  All he could see was Jean’s angry face, and all he could hear was the blood rushing through his ears.

“What?” Jean said, hazel eyes sparking.  “Why the fuck would I do that, you fucking idiot?”

“I don’t know,” Eren growled.  “Before, we only worked together because, and you said it yourself, ‘mutually assured survival’.  And now we’re not alone, so—“

“Oh my God, you’re a fucking dumbass,” Jean interrupted, burying his face in his hands.  “We’ve been with other people for, ugh, you know what, Eren?” he continued, voice muffled.  “You can believe whatever the fuck you like.”  He uncovered his face, glared one last time at Eren, and spun on his heel, stalking away and disappearing in the horde of teenagers.

Eren watched him go, feeling like a giant fist was squeezing his heart, but at the same time, ire churned in his belly.  He turned his back away and exhaled, right as a Scout shouted, “Time to go!  Everyone gather in the center!”

Immediately, AWOL Unwinds buffeted Eren from all sides, chattering and making their way to the center of the warehouse.  Eren, already feeling the onset of claustrophobia in his sweaty palms, went with the flow and watched as Scouts clustered Unwinds into groups of four and tugged them out.

On impulse, Eren glanced around for Jean, worry temporarily replacing his anger, but a hard-faced Scout roughly grabbed him by the arm and shoved him towards another.  “Hey!” he shouted indignantly, rubbing at the pinched skin and unfairly reminded of his and Jean’s excursion into Levi’s bookstore.

Before he knew what was happening, he was guided into a large crate with three other teenagers.

Eren tried to stand, to protest, scowling to bat back the fear crawling through his body, but the crate nailed shut before so much as an indignant noise had left his mouth, plunging the interior into darkness.

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed, slumping into a dark corner.

“You can say that again,” one of the others said, voice like a boy.

Eren pulled his legs up to his face and wrapped his arms around them.  He tried to control his breathing, tried not to feel the walls of the crate collapsing in on him.  He wished Mikasa or Armin were here, then shook his head; no, if they were here, it would mean they were AWOL Unwinds, and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.  He instead thought of Jean, who, in the cellar, pulled him out of a nightmare.

He pinched his eyes shut, right as he felt the crate move, and flinched when a body tumbled into him.

“Sorry,” another Unwind said, this time sounding like a girl.

“Uh, it’s fine,” he replied.  He could hear her shifting around in the small space, trying to get comfortable.  Outside, the crate stilled, and he thought he could hear the muffled yelling of the Scouts.

Within moments though, it was eerily quiet, and all Eren heard was the sound of his breathing and that of his three companions.  There was an uncomfortable pinching sensation in his ears, and it just kept accumulating.  He swallowed to relieve the pressure, only to be met with a silence that seemed even louder.

“I think we’re on a plane,” said the third Unwind, whose voice sounded familiar.

“Huh, I’ve never been on a plane before,” the girl mused, a hint of an accent in her voice.

“This is a fucking awful reason to be on one,” Eren commented.  He looped a strand of hair around his finger, focusing on his breathing, trying to ignore the weird echoing quality of their voices in the enclosed space, already mourning the loss of his wallet and photo inside it.

The pressure in his ears continued to change; he rubbed at them in discomfort and swallowed again.

“I’m Sasha,” said the girl suddenly.  “I’m from South Carolina.”

Eren nodded even though he knew none of the others could see him.

“I’m Marco,” said the second boy that had spoken.  Yes, Eren definitely knew that voice, thanks to Jean’s brief acquaintance with him.  “I’m from, uh, Oregon.”

“Uh, Connie,” said the first.  “I was in Texas.  Hold on, I think I have something. . .”  After a few seconds, a bright light illuminated the space and everyone’s faces, the source being an old generation iPod.

Eren’s stomach turned as his eyes adjusted; the space had seemed so much larger in the dark.

He glanced around at his companions:  a girl with a cheerful face and a ponytail, a Hispanic-looking boy with a growing buzz cut, and the third, familiar boy with a square jaw and freckles splashed across his face.  All three of them looked at him expectantly.

“Eren,” he mumbled.  “Illinois.”

Sasha’s eyes widened in recognition immediately, and Connie’s just a beat later.  “You’re the Shiganshina AWOL,” she said.

Eren nodded.

Connie gaped at him.  “You?” he said.  “Really?”  He sounded utterly fascinated, a stark contrast from the wispy-haired boy at the warehouse.  “Did you really kill a Juvie cop?”

Eren looked between each of their faces:  Connie’s excitement, Sasha’s apprehension, Marco’s curiosity.  Then, he said, “No, he just had a tranq gun.”  _But I would’ve killed him if it wasn’t._

“Still, holy shit,” Connie breathed, voice full of awe.

“What did you do to end up an Unwind?” Sasha wondered.

“Come on, don’t ask him—“

Eren interrupted Marco, “Got into too many fights at school.  Dad didn’t like it, so he signed the forms.”

“Did you do a runner before or when the Juvies came for you?” Connie pressed.

“Before,” Eren replied easily.  The talking was taking his mind off of their location.  “He hid the forms in his desk.”

Sasha snickered.  “Funny how parents always think they can fool us.”

“Yeah,” Connie agreed, glancing at her.  “What about you?  Why were you a problem child?”

“I had a stealing problem,” Sasha confessed, eyeing Connie’s iPod like it was her next victim.  “Mostly with food.”

Connie snorted, amused.  “Well, my parents just thought I wouldn’t ever amount to anything,” he told them, tone taking on a hint of self-deprecation.  “What about you, Marco?”

Marco shrugged.  “My parents got divorced and split everything,” he explained.  “And I’m an only child, and you can’t really split me, so they agreed to have me Unwound.  It was the only thing they could agree on, really.”

“Holy shit,” Connie muttered.  “I’m sorry, man.”

Sasha murmured her own condolences, as if Marco was the only one here that didn’t deserve to be Unwound, as if stealing or disappointing your parents or getting into fights made being Unwound justifiable.  Eren curled his hands into fists and scowled at the air, the anger and injustice at their situation beating back his fear.

“That’s fucking stupid,” he said, interrupting the inane conversation that had resumed.

“What, brownies with Oreos?” Sasha said, quirking an eyebrow at him.  “No, it’s actually really good.”

“No, not _that,_ ” Eren said.  He relaxed slightly, lifting up his head and letting go of his legs.  “It’s stupid that any of us _deserve_ to be Unwound.  I mean, have you ever heard of a teenager that _didn’t_ break the rules sometimes?”

Marco and Sasha exchanged glances, and Connie muttered, “My little sister.”

Eren ignored him.  “Look, it’s our parents’ fault that we’re in this mess, not ours,” he told them emphatically.  “All _we_ did wrong was act like fucking _teenagers_ ; when our parents were kids, Unwinding was barely a concept, right?”

Marco nodded, slowly.  “That’s true.”

“And just because Sasha stole a cupcake, or I punched a kid for calling a girl a fag, or Connie flunked trig, doesn’t mean we deserve to die.”

“But they say you don’t really die when you’re Unwound,” Marco pointed out.

“Oh yeah?” Eren sneered.  “Says who?”

“The doctors that perform Unwinding,” Sasha informed him, raising a perplexed eyebrow.

“See?” Eren said, pointing at her.  “Isn’t that _weird_?  No one who’s ever been Unwound can say that they’re still alive.”

“Well, that’s kind of the point—“

“And the doctors. . .  Of _course_ they say it doesn’t kill the kids that get Unwound, because if it did, parents would actually feel _guilty_ about signing off their kids’ lives, and then the doctors wouldn’t get their paychecks.”  Eren crossed his arms, the flabbergasted expressions on the others’ faces telling him that he’d made his point.

All any of them could say was, “Holy fucking shit.”

* * *

Eren was so tempted to fall to his knees and kiss the ground once he and the others emerged from the stuffy crate, but he settled for deeply inhaling the dry air and smiling as the sun’s rays hit his skin.

“You look like you’re high,” a gruff, irritated voice said from behind him.

Eren spun around.  “Jean,” he said, eyes widening.

Jean just grunted in response, shifting from foot to foot, and Eren was suddenly aware of everything coiling in the air between them.  “I’m so—“ he started, but was interrupted by a loud booming voice.

“Welcome to the Graveyard!” they said.  “I am the Commander, and the first thing you need to understand about this place is that you must do everything I say!”

Eren turned to see a tall man with blonde hair and a handsome, ageless face.  He stood with his hands behind his back, flanked by two teenage girls.

“Holy fuck,” Eren breathed, recognizing one of them.

“What?” Jean muttered from beside him.

“That’s. . .”  _Historia._   He stared at her, as if daring her to look at him, but she didn’t.  He was surprised by how blank her gaze was, fixed on the ground as it was, and that was when he noticed that one of the Commander’s arms hung limply at his side while the other gestured animatedly with his words.

And he was still speaking:  “Here, all of you AWOL Unwinds will make sure Graveyard operations run smoothly.  Everyone will have an assigned job, something ideal for their abilities, and if I’m not around, then you’ll take orders from Historia”—he nodded towards the short blonde girl—“and Ymir.”  He angled his head at the tall, dark-skinned girl standing at his other side.  “When you turn eighteen, you will receive a new identity and a job to see you through the rest of your life, when Unwinding you will no longer be legal.”  With that, he abruptly turned and made his way down a runway.

A runway?  Now that the Commander was gone and one of his wing-women, Ymir, was shouting orders, Eren was free to look around.  On either side of the runway were planes, about twelve in total.  He glanced over at the plane they’d come in and saw a silhouette in the window of the cockpit.

“It’s going to taxi,” Jean observed, following Eren’s gaze.  “It’s a graveyard for old planes, in the middle of a fucking desert.”

Eren nodded, but there was still something disturbing about sending children doomed to be Unwound – to die – to a place called the Graveyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought? In character? Typos? Does it show how long it's been since I read this book?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They laugh, they flirt, they argue. Annie's there too.
> 
> Also what is plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time: It's been a while since I read this book, and my memory on how, exactly, the Graveyard runs is a little hazy, so please excuse the substantial amount of bullshitting that I have undoubtedly done. (This also applies to future chapters.)
> 
> [posts chapter early to try to get motivated to write chapter six]

Ymir assigned Eren to the infirmary cabin/plane as a medic.

“I don’t know any medicine!” Eren protested immediately.

“Historia said your dad’s a doctor, right?” Ymir said, raising an eyebrow at him.

Eren gaped at her; so Historia _had_ seen him.  “Y-yeah,” he said once he’d found his voice, “but that doesn’t fucking mean _I_ know medicine.”

“Hey, maybe it’s in your genes,” Ymir remarked, smirking slightly.  “Anyway, get going; ask for Mina, she’s in charge there.”

Eren opened his mouth to continue to argue, but because of the glare that she leveled at him, even more powerful than any look from Mikasa or Levi or Annie, he wilted and trudged off.  He was halfway down the runway when he realized he had no fucking clue which plane was the infirmary.

He glanced around, hoping for the telltale sign of the caduceus or whatever the hell that staff with the snake wound around it was, or maybe a Red Cross flag.

He jumped when he felt a hand clutching his shoulder and breathing on his ear.  “It’s right there, dumbass.”

“Jean!” Eren shouted, wrenching himself away from him and scowling when Jean laughed at his reaction.  “The fuck was that for?”

“You just looked really focused,” Jean observed, smirking.

Eren shrugged, rubbing his shoulder.  He still felt the ghost of Jean’s breath against his ear, but touching that would probably be too obvious.  Trying to take his mind from the intimacy of that, whatever ‘that’ was, he asked, “So what’s _your_ job?”

“I told them that I can cook,” he replied sheepishly, “so I’ll be in the kitchen plane.”

“ _You_ can cook?” Eren said, skeptically.  “ _You_ , the little rich tithe?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jean muttered irritably, crossing his arms.

Eren laughed.  “Well, I’ll be looking forward to your cooking,” he said.  “Just try not to poison me, all right?”

“I make no promises, you fucking traitor,” Jean grumbled as Eren continued guffawing.

* * *

Mina turned out to be a sweet girl with pigtails, but her sweetness vanished when Eren told her that he didn’t actually know how to give first aid.

“I’m going to fucking _kill_ Ymir,” she hissed, glaring at him.

Eren raised his hands defensively.  “Hey, _she’s_ the one that put me here.”

“All right, fine, I’ll take you, no problem,” Mina said.  “But I’ll have to teach you everything, and that’ll take time, so. . .”  She sighed, then plowed on, “Okay, we’re in the middle of the desert so heatstroke is big. . .”

Eren could definitely understand, especially as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

She spent the whole afternoon tutoring Eren in first aid, in the infirmary’s policies.

“Painkillers are hard for us to come by, so don’t give anyone any unless they’re dying.”

“If someone has a giant gash, don’t stitch it up without asking me first, just in case it would be fine with just tape.”

“If someone has a cold, make sure they stay in here and _not_ in the dorms; we don’t want too many people getting sick.”

“If you need to give someone CPR, move them into the shade first so that _you_ don’t pass out too.”

Eren eventually zoned out, staring out of one of the little oval windows into the desert.  He wondered about the others he’d met:  Reiner, Bertolt, and Annie; Connie, Sasha, and Marco.  He thought about Historia, about the blank look on her face.  He imagined what Mikasa and Armin were doing back in Shiganshina, if it was Thanksgiving yet, as he’d completely lost track of the days.  And was Levi still sheltering AWOL Unwinds in his bookstore’s cellar, or had the Juvies caught him?

Eren sincerely hoped not, because even if the journey to the Graveyard was difficult, at least here he and the other Unwinds were safe, even if they had to wait it out till their eighteenth birthdays.

He pictured Jean in the kitchen – or _a_ kitchen – and couldn’t help adding a stupid pink apron to the fantasy; it made him smirk, at least till Mina said:

“Any questions?”

Eren jerked his head to face her, blanching when he spotted the obvious irritation on her face; so she’d noticed his attention wavering.

“No, I, uh, I think I got everything,” he lied quickly.

“Well,” Mina said, crossing her arms, “if you didn’t, you can still ask me.”  She then smiled at him, and Eren felt a little better.  “It’s almost dinner now anyway, so you might as well head over to the dining hall.”

Eren stood and ran down the stairs out of the plane, relieved that the air was already so much cooler in the wake of the sunset, and glancing up and down the runway and wondering which plane was the dining hall, until he realized that almost everyone outside was headed in the same direction.

The dining plane was a jumbo jet with half of one of its wings torn off, and the interior simply looked like any other airplane’s interior with seats arranged in rows, except at the back, where people were milling collecting food from where the flight attendants would be during a flight.

Eren followed the crowd, his eyes already peeled for Jean, but instead he spotted Reiner, who frowned in concentration as he served food, spooning rice and vegetable stew onto plates.

When it was Eren’s turn to grab food, he asked Reiner, “Is Jean here?”

Reiner looked at him, confused for a second, before blinking and responding, “Oh, yeah, he’s still preparing food, but I’ll tell him you’re here.”

Eren nodded at him, gratefully, and took his tray to find a seat.  He immediately spotted Annie sitting alone towards the emptier front of the plane and joined her without a second thought.

“Hey,” he greeted her once he was seated.

She simply glanced at him in response, but then asked, “So what’s your job?”

“Medic,” he told her, grimacing slightly.

“What, don’t like it?” she wondered, quirking a blonde eyebrow at him.

“I don’t know any medicine and it, um. . .”  He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable.

Annie appraised him from over her juice box.  “Was your dad a doctor or something?”

Eren stabbed his mound of rice with his fork.  “Yeah.”  They ate without speaking for a few minutes, Annie loudly draining her juice box and Eren chewing on overcooked rice and vegetables, until he said, “So what’re _you_ do—“

“Eren?  You were looking for me?”

He jerked his head around and spotted Jean standing in the aisle, holding his own tray of food and wearing a flowery apron.  “Nice apron,” he commented, amused.

Jean flushed.  “I, uh, forgot to take it off.”  He sat down beside Eren and carefully balanced his tray in his lap.

“Must’ve been in a hurry,” Annie muttered from Eren’s other side.

“Are you trying to _imply_ something?” Jean retorted, leaning across Eren to glare at Annie.

Eren bit his lip and shifted away from Jean slightly, all too conscious of his proximity.  “Hey,” he grumbled, pleased there was no tremor in his voice, “your fucking apron is gonna eat my food before I do if you don’t move back.”

Annie cast him a somewhat entertained look, then returned her attention to her food, although to Jean she said, “Is there something _to_ imply?”

“No, there’s fucking not,” Eren interrupted before Jean could reply.  He nudged his shoulder, pushing him away from his food and, more importantly, away from his flushed, tense body.

Jean slumped in his seat, scowling, and attacked his food.

“The Commander is the only adult here, isn’t he?” Annie mused randomly.

“Looks like it,” Eren said, “but Ymir looks like she could be eighteen.”

“There’s not much difference between seventeen and eighteen,” Annie pointed out.

“It’s the difference between Unwind and adult,” Jean argued, tapping his fork against the plastic of his tray.

“Yeah, but somewhere like here. . .” she trailed off into a thoughtful silence.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Jean inquired, resting his chin in his hand and looking around Eren at Annie.

“All these teenagers in one place, with only teenagers and _one_ adult to look after them?”

“It’s probably chaos, yeah,” Jean agreed.

Eren looked between the two of them, annoyed and feeling _very_ left out of the conversation.

“Well, what if something goes wrong?  What if someone just decides to revolt?  It doesn’t seem like the ‘Commander’ interacts with the Unwinds much, so how much control does he actually have?”

Jean nodded, gaze contemplative.  “Yeah, that actually. . .”  He frowned.  “Fuck.”

“Are you saying that there could be _riots_?” Eren said, finally connecting the dots.

Annie shrugged.  “It’s definitely a possibility,” she acknowledged.

Eren stared at his food and sighed.  _So much for safety._

* * *

 

“I would’ve thought that you’d _love_ riots,” Jean quipped once they were outside, making their way towards their designated dormitory.

Eren glared at him from his periphery.  “The fuck made you think that?”

“Getting into fights,” Jean said, shrugging, a slight smile on his lips.  “Arguing about _everything_.”

Eren rolled his eyes.  “Then I’m surprised _you_ don’t love them,” he retorted easily.

Jean smirked at him and _winked_.  “Who says I don’t?”

Eren’s jaw dropped.  When he recovered from the shock – at the wink more than at the words – he replied, “You’re an asshole, so yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

He expected Jean to shoot back something equally insulting or sarcastic, but instead, he laughed, hard enough that he halted in place and bent over.

Eren turned around and faced him, wondering, “What the fuck is so funny?”

It took Jean a few minutes – and a few curious stares – to catch his breath, but when he did, he stood upright and fixed his gaze on Eren, face surprisingly sober.  “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging.  “Everything about this situation is pretty fucked up though, so what’s a riot going to do?”

Eren snorted, but silently conceded that Jean maybe had a point.

* * *

As it turned out, all the fifteen-year-old boys bunked together in an old jet with the seats torn out, the floor covered with bedrolls and sleeping bags, pillows tucked into them.  At the entrance, Ymir handed each of the newbies a sleeping bag, a pillow, a toothbrush, and the promise of a change of clothes in the morning.

When Connie asked about pajamas she shrugged and said, “You can sleep in your nasty boy boxers for all I care.”

Connie glared at her but didn’t protest, accepting the proffered commodities.

Someone that had been there for a while complained about space, and Ymir immediately retorted, “You make room, or you fucking sleep outside where there’s all the space you could possibly want.”

Eren’s stomach clenched unpleasantly at this news, even when Jean offered him a comforting smile.

There was a fairly empty stretch towards the rear of the jet, and Eren set down his sleeping bag there, unfurling it and tucking his pillow into the head.  Jean set up beside him, and when Eren glanced at him, he saw that his face was pink.

“What’re you so embarrassed about?” Eren wondered.  “We slept near each other enough in Levi’s safe house, _and_ the warehouse.”  Well, he could understand his own embarrassment, if there was any, but Jean. . .

“It’s, um, it’s nothing,” he said quickly.

Eren raised an eyebrow at Jean, not sure if he believed him or not, but he decided not to press the point.  Jean was usually quick to make his thoughts known anyway.

Eren sat on his sleeping bag, clutching his new toothbrush in one hand while he watched other boys set up their own places.  He idly waved at Connie, who was doing as Ymir suggested and stripping down to his boxers.

“So. . .airplane bathrooms, huh?”

Eren glanced at Jean.  “What about them?”

“You know, small spaces.”  Jean sat stretched out on his sleeping bag, leaning back and balancing on his palms.  He looked at Eren through lazy, half-lidded eyes.

Eren swallowed, suddenly more concerned about Jean sleeping near him than about his claustrophobia.  “Uh, I’ll be fine,” he said, shrugging.  He stood up and padded over to the back of the plane.

There was already a short queue formed, but it didn’t take too long for Eren to reach the front.  He closed his eyes and shut himself inside, wrinkling his nose at the bathroom-typical smell that assaulted him.

He went about his pre-sleep routine with eyelids sealed the entire time, groping around for the tap and paper towels, fooling himself into thinking the space was larger than it actually was.  When he was done, he flushed the toilet, grimacing at the power of such a high-decibel noise in such a small place, and stumbled out and back to his sleeping bag, tripping over a few splayed legs in the process.

“Sorry,” he muttered to the disgruntled owners, most of whom ignored him and rolled over.

Eren tugged off his jeans and tucked himself into his sleeping bag, conscious of the eyes on him.  “Jean, why are you staring at me?” he asked, his back turned to the other Unwind and his face warm.

“I’m not staring at you,” Jean replied, sounding petulant.

“No, you’re staring at me,” Eren contradicted.  He turned his head slightly, to see Jean lying on his back and gazing at the low ceiling, and scowled.

“See, not staring at you,” Jean said, as if he could see Eren confirming.

“Whatever,” Eren mumbled.

It proved to be a long night, a long night spent tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable on the hard floor pressing into his back and sides.  So Eren watched the way the moonlight poured in through the oval windows, the shadows the beams made, how it illuminated his surroundings with a ghostly glow.

As contrived as it sounded, Eren missed the sky from his time in Levi’s bookstore cellar and the warehouse, and was almost tempted to sneak out of the plane and stargaze, but somehow he found himself facing Jean and using the moonlight to _stare._

He frowned even when he slept, his resting face confirmed to be a scowl.  Eren couldn’t help reaching out, his fingertips ghosting over the thin, arching eyebrows and his slender nose.  Everything about Jean was narrow and sharp, and it made him look almost fragile.

Eren knew he wasn’t though, far from it, as he recalled the firmness of his grip when he dragged him along, into Levi’s bookstore, and away from the boy in the warehouse.

He wondered if he’d fallen for him too fast – how he did most things, if he was being truthful.  A fact that Mikasa and Armin, and his father, always lamented, were how quickly he acted on his impulses, and how often they got him into trouble.

How different would his life be, Eren wondered, if he’d never found the Unwind documents in his father’s desk?

Eren drifted into a doze at some point of the night, or early morning, and almost immediately the sunrise shone into the airplane, lighting up the dust drifting through the air.

The cabin door swung open, and Ymir marched in wielding a pair of trash can lids.  She crashed them like cymbals and shouted, “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!  Breakfast is in an hour, so cooks better get cooking!”  And then she was gone without so much as a backwards glance.

Beside Eren, Jean grumbled in a sleep-heavy voice, “The fuck?  It’s too early.”

“Well, you’re a cook, so. . .”  Eren reached with his foot across the divide between their sleeping bags and prodded him with his toe.  “I’m hungry.”

Jean kicked him in retaliation, which only made Eren laugh.  “How the fuck are you a morning person?” he demanded as he slowly sat up.

Eren stretched his arms over his head.  “Don’t know,” he said.  “I just have a lot of natural energy.”

A huge yawn split his face, and he attempted to conceal it with his hands, but it was too late.

Jean snickered and remarked, “So much natural energy.”

“You’re an ass,” Eren mumbled, burying his face in his pillow and closing his eyes.

“Get up!” a new voice commanded, punctuated by a sharp hit, with a pillow, to the back of Eren’s head.

He picked his head up and looked around, glaring when he caught sight of Connie wielding a pillow like a weapon.  “The fuck do you want?” he demanded.

“You’re the only one still in bed, and Ymir and Historia are supposed to come back with clothes.”

“So?” Eren said, raising a confused eyebrow at him.

“ _So_ Ymir fucking scares me, okay?” Connie retorted, scampering away to his own sleeping bag.

Eren rolled his eyes but sat up, attempting to rub the exhaustion from his face.  He yawned again, but this time, rather than laughing, Jean asked:

“So you didn’t sleep well?”

Eren glanced at him and admitted, “Not really.  Strange, crowded spaces aren’t ideal for a good night’s sleep.”

Jean blinked at him.  “Yeah, I guess not.”  He got to his feet, grunting slightly as he continued to stretch his long limbs, sighing contentedly.

Eren watched him, jealousy at how comfortable he seemed mingling with admiration.

“Why are you staring at me?” Jean immediately demanded, leveling Eren with a self-conscious glare.

Eren scowled.  “No reason,” he told him.  _Just enjoying the view._

Jean glared at him, but his cheeks were tinted pink, as if he sensed Eren’s unspoken words.

True to Connie’s prediction, Ymir reappeared within moments, claiming to have a ‘shit-load’ of clothes for the new boys.  As it turned out, it was the same ‘regulation’ uniform as the rest of the Graveyard Unwinds:  gray camouflage pants, white t-shirt, and an orange jacket (optional depending on the weather), with some boxer shorts tossed in.  She announced that laundry day was every Monday and Thursday (and confirmed that it was Tuesday), and glared at them until, steadily, fifteen-year-old boys started to trickle out of the jet.

Eren quickly dressed in his uniform and shrugged on the jacket, relieved that they actually fit him quite well.  He then shoved his feet into his sneakers, glad that he could still wear them; they’d been a fifteenth birthday present from Mikasa, and even though they were just plain black Chuck Taylors, he was reluctant to part with them.

“Well, these aren’t so bad,” Jean muttered from beside him.

Eren glanced at Jean, raising an eyebrow.  _No, they really aren’t_.

Not for the first time and definitely not for the last, Eren resisted the urge to kiss him.

* * *

Eren’s first day in the infirmary was dull, and even when Mina assured him that it was a very good thing indeed, he couldn’t help but be annoyed with his placement.  It also didn’t help that all that he’d had to pass for sleep had been a few hours of dozing.

Easily the highlight of his day was Jean sticking his head in about an hour after lunch, although of course, Eren almost had a panic attack at the sight.

“What the fuck did you do?” he demanded, ignoring Mina’s wordless reprimand.

“Oh, I, uh, cut my finger.”  Jean held out his right hand, showing Eren his index finger.

It was barely a scratch.  Eren raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.  “How did you manage that?”

“I was cutting carrots,” Jean replied, tone defensive, “carelessly.”

Eren rolled his eyes but grabbed his hand, examining the scratch.  “I could kiss it better,” he commented thoughtlessly.  “It’s that small.”

“Just give me a Band-Aid,” Jean said.  “I don’t want whatever’s been in your mouth anywhere near where it can infect me.”

Eren glared up at him, irritated and confused.  “The fuck?  Why would I—“  His eyes widened as he caught on.  “Oh, uh, figure of speech, asshole,” he grumbled, turning his face so that Jean couldn’t see how red he probably was.

“R-right,” Jean said, the single stuttered syllable sounding skeptical.

“Like hell you’ll waste a Band-Aid on _that_.”  Mina shoved Eren away from Jean and examined his ‘injured’ finger, snorting.  “Just put some Neosporin on it,” she told Eren.

Eren watched her leave, her hands gesturing at nothing as she commanded Hannah, another medic, to take inventory (again).

“She seems nice,” Jean commented as Eren turned his back and rummaged in one of the cabinets.

“She usually is,” Eren replied.  He found the ointment without too much difficulty and returned his attention to Jean.

“Beats the kitchen boss,” he said, shrugging as he offered Eren his cut finger.

Eren dabbed a bit of ointment onto the cut, then scowled and grabbed Jean’s hand when he twitched.  “Quit flinching.”

“It’s cold,” Jean complained.

Eren ignored him.  When he finished, he dropped his hand, a bit reluctantly, and returned the Neosporin to its cabinet.  “Be more careful next time,” Eren advised.

“I’ll try my best,” Jean retorted snidely.

Eren grinned slightly, but when he turned back to face him, Jean was already gone.

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Jean showed up at the infirmary at least six times (Eren stopped keeping count after the sixth visit).  Each time, he showed up with a different cut, bruise, or burn, and waved it off as a kitchen accident.

“I touched the burner while it was still hot.”

“I was peeling potatoes.”

“I dropped a pot on my foot.”

The excuses kept getting more and more ridiculous, until Mina started intervening, telling him to ‘piss the fuck off’ or she’d report him to Hitch, who, apparently, was his terrifying ‘kitchen boss’.

Eren, however, couldn’t resist teasing him.  “You know, Jean, I never thought you were so clumsy,” he said, tossing him a cold pack for the purpling bruise on his foot.

Jean caught it easily and rolled his eyes.

“Or maybe,” Eren continued, half sarcastic and half hopeful, “you just want to visit me?”  He stroked an invisible beard.

Jean’s eyes widened, but then he just shrugged it off and retorted, “Don’t flatter yourself, Eren.  I’m doing it to avoid Hitch.”

“Oh, she scares you?”

Jean glared at him.  “No, she doesn’t fucking _scare_ me,” he retorted, rolling his eyes.  “She’s just really, uh, weird.”

“Weird how?” Eren wondered, skeptical.

“She patted my ass yesterday,” Jean admitted, self-consciously running his fingers through his hair.

“So tell her not to,” Eren suggested.  He gritted his teeth, not sure if the irritation he felt was of the protective variety or just jealousy.

“I, uh, did.”

“And she didn’t listen?”

Jean fidgeted, shifting the cold pack.  “She has so far.”

Eren gaped at him.  “I still don’t understand what you’re fucking problem is.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jean mumbled, tossing the cold pack towards Eren, who, taken off guard, fumbled before he managed to catch it.  He tugged his sock and shoe back over his foot and stood up.  “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Eren replied, watching him leave and feeling unsatisfied by the conversation.

“You should just tell him.”

Eren flinched and turned his head to see Hannah hovering over his shoulder.  “W-what?”

She rolled her eyes and retreated back to her usual spot while Eren glared after her until a quiet, timid voice called out, “Eren?”

He spun around and spotted Historia slowly climbing into the infirmary, limping.  She stared at him with her big eyes, expectant.

“H-hi,” he said, surprised to see her and the hesitant smile she threw at him.  He stood up.  “You should sit down,” he told her quickly.

She did, taking a seat close to the entrance, and he approached her.  “So what happened?” he wondered.

“I twisted my ankle,” she said, lifting her right foot.  “I think it’s starting to swell.”

Eren sat on the floor, his own feet tucked under his body, and gently lifted her foot into his lap.  He rolled up the hem of her pants till the whole ankle was exposed.  Then, hesitantly because he’d never done this before, began the examination.

“Does this hurt?” he asked as he tapped it above the joint.  He glanced up at her face, unsurprised to see her grimace and nod.  He continued, eventually concluding that the joint was just dislocated.

“Uh, do you want something to bite down on?” he wondered.  “We can’t spare any painkillers. . .”

“It’s, uh, it’s fine,” she said, lifting her arm and biting her jacket sleeve in preparation.

“All right.”  Eren gripped her foot in one hand and her leg in the other.  Then, in what he hoped was one smooth motion, he snapped them back into place.

She whimpered, ever so slightly, the sound muffled by the fabric in her mouth.  “Th-thanks,” she said shakily as Eren set her foot back on the floor.

Eren stood and advised, “You should come back tomorrow to make sure it’s still okay.”

“Yeah, okay,” Historia agreed, standing as well.  She wobbled slightly, and Eren reached out to grab her shoulder, realizing he’d forgotten how short she was.

“How long have you been here?” he inquired.

“Uh, a little longer than you,” she said, shrugging.

“Do you know why—“

“Why my parents wanted to Unwind me?” she interrupted.  When Eren nodded, she shook her head and elaborated, “Maybe because I’m a Stork, maybe because I came out to them.  I don’t know, and I don’t think I’ll ever find out.”  She scrutinized him and added, “To be honest, Eren, I’m not surprised to see you here.”

Eren blinked at her, shocked.  “What?”

“Well, you got into a lot of trouble, didn’t you?  But I’m glad you’re here and not at a harvest camp.”  She closed her eyes and shuddered.

“Were _you_ at a harvest camp?” he inquired, struck dumb by her implication.

She appraised him, then nodded, slowly.  “I was there when that clapper blew the entrance,” she confessed.  “Both Ymir and I escaped, and found the Scouts.”

“So what’re they like?  The harvest camps?”  Mikasa would berate Eren for his tactlessness, but he needed to know.

Historia frowned and said, “They’re surreal.”  Before he could ask her what she meant, she turned around, still favoring her left leg slightly, and left without uttering another word.

He stared after her, thoroughly stunned.

* * *

 

“So I think the Commander is the leader of the Scouts.”

Jean looked at Eren, eyes narrowed thoughtfully, while Annie just continued eating.  “Makes sense,” he said, “except why would the Scouts’ leader be here, in the middle of nowhere, with only a bunch of AWOL Unwinds?”

Eren shrugged.  “Maybe he recruits us,” he suggested, trying to sound nonchalant, but judging from Jean’s stormy expression, it wasn’t working.

“Eren, you—“

“I think the portions are getting smaller,” Annie interrupted.  Both Eren and Jean shot her annoyed glances, but she ignored them, simply scooping up every last grain of rice onto her spoon.  After she swallowed, she darted her eyes over to each of them in turn, as if daring either to disagree, before they landed more permanently on Jean.

Jean cleared his throat.  “Uh, we’re not really allowed to talk about that,” he said awkwardly.

“So it’s true.”

Eren glanced between them, tapping his fork against his tray.  “What?” he said, confused.

“It’s fine,” Jean commented, shrugging.  “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Only if we starve,” Annie mumbled, so low Eren almost didn’t catch her words.

“We’re not gonna fucking _starve_ ,” Jean retorted.

“What, the Graveyard doesn’t get food deliveries?” Eren wondered, catching on.

“Of course we fucking do,” Jean replied irritably.  “It’s just—“  He broke off, sighing.  “It’s been a while.”

A tense silence enveloped them, each churning in their own thoughts and worries, but Eren was less concerned with food than he was with the Scouts.  “I’m going to talk to the Commander,” he announced.

Jean glanced at him.  “Just to ask him if you can join?”

Eren nodded, gritting his teeth.

“You’re only fucking fifteen,” Jean pointed out.  “Why the fuck would he take you?”

“Then I’ll tell him I want to join _then_ ,” Eren said, refusing to be discouraged.

Jean shoved his overgrown hair out of his face and growled.  “Then why not wait till _then_?”

“What’s wrong with getting things done?”  Eren set down his fork and crossed his arms, glaring at Jean.

Jean responded by setting his tray aside and standing up.  “You might end up changing your mind,” he said.

Eren scoffed, “Then you don’t know me too well, do you?”

“Oh, I’m aware that you’re a fucking _stubborn dumbass_.”

Eren got to his feet as well, approaching Jean.  “Why the fuck do you even _care_?” he demanded.  “It’s not like I’m begging you to join _with_ me.”

He could practically hear the hush that fell over the dining plane as he and Jean stood nose to nose, glaring at each other, Eren resenting the few inches of height the taller Unwind had on him.

“They’re just really fucking _shifty_ ,” Jean told him.  “Why don’t you fucking _get_ that?”

“Just because they don’t want to fucking tell _you_ what they’re up to, doesn’t mean they’re fucking _shifty_ ,” Eren retorted, blood boiling at Jean’s lame excuses.

“Eren, Jean!  Take it outside!”

They both ignored Reiner’s commanding voice, Eren with his fist clenched at his side.

He swung it at Jean right as he lobbed his own punch at Eren, who felt the impact of sharp knuckles against his eye at the same time as his fist connected with a lip.  Ignoring the throbbing and sudden swelling in his eye, he aimed another punch at Jean, only to be grabbed from behind.

“Eren, calm down!” Reiner said, holding him in a headlock.

“Let go of me!” Eren yelled, thrashing in the larger Unwind’s grip.

“Not till we’re outside.”  He hauled Eren towards the entrance and half-dragged, half-carried him down the stairs to the runway.  Then, he dropped him unceremoniously to the ground and glared at him.  “I thought the reason you were getting Unwound was because of _fighting_?”

Eren rubbed his aching backside and got to his feet.  “So?  Unwinding isn’t fucking _therapy_.  I still _have_ my problems.”  He tentatively reached up and touched his eye, wincing at the pain.

“Well, _fix_ them,” Reiner said, spinning on his heel and retreating back into the dining plane right as Marco appeared with an irate Jean.

“Fuck off, Marco!” Jean growled, tugging himself away from the other’s grip.

Marco didn’t put up a fight, but he narrowed his eyes at him before glancing at Eren.  “You should probably get that eye looked at,” he suggested.

Eren ignored him, instead choosing to eye Jean, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at his slowly swelling lip.  Jean met his eyes, then quickly averted them, crossing his arms and scowling.

Someone cleared their throat, and Eren spun his head around to see Ymir standing nearby, an eyebrow raised.  “Seriously?” she said, frowning.  “What are you, little kids?”

“Close enough,” Jean mumbled, a hint of shame in his voice.

“Well, might as well introduce you to the Commander since that’s what you were arguing about,” Ymir said, shrugging.  She then reached out and grabbed each of them by the ear, and, ignoring their noises of protests, tugged them down the runway.

Eren was irresistibly reminded of his mother, how she would pinch his earlobe if she suspected him of lying.

They arrived at the smallest plane along the runway, an old model of Air Force One, although it had a pair of overlaid wings, one white and one blue, freshly painted onto the door.

Ymir let them go once they started climbing the stairs, but not without shooting warning daggers at them over her shoulder.  Then, she knocked on the sealed portal.

It slid open smoothly to reveal the tall, broad-shouldered figure of the Commander.

“So, Commander, these two little kids got into a fight about meeting you,” Ymir announced, clapping Eren on the back hard enough that he almost lost his balance while Jean snickered at his discomfort.

“Oh, did they?” the Commander said, raising a bushy blonde eyebrow.  He stepped aside, his right arm swinging precariously.  “Come in.”

Eren shot a glare at Jean, who rolled his eyes and stepped through the opening first, ducking his head.  Eren followed close behind, surprised when his shoes sank into plush carpet.  He looked over his shoulder in time to see Ymir departing and the Commander shutting the door.

He turned to them, appraising each of them in turn.  Eren felt goosebumps pop up onto his arm thanks to the scrutiny.

“Please, sit,” the Commander invited, waving his left arm at the dim interior of the plane.

Eren took the opportunity to examine his surroundings, at the few large chairs that occupied the mostly empty space.  There was also a photograph mounted on the wall, but it was the only visible personalization.

He sat in a leather chair, and when Jean took the one beside his, he leaned away from him, ignoring the scowl aimed in his direction.

The Commander stood before them, his left hand behind his back while his right simply swung uselessly beside him.  It made Eren wonder. . .

“Is that a _prosthetic_?” Jean demanded, hazel eyes wide as he pointed at the right arm.

Surprise colored the Commander’s face, and he rolled up the sleeve, revealing skin that shone like. . .plastic?  “Yes,” he said, smiling slightly.  “How did you know?”

“I, uh, I found an old medical article once,” Jean admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Eren looked between the two of them, from the shocked recognition on Jean’s face to the sheepish pleasure on the Commander’s.  “What the fuck is a prosthetic?” he wondered, barely flinching when they both turned to look at him.

“It’s a fake limb,” Jean explained, sounding more animated than annoyed.  “Sometimes functional, sometimes just for show; doctors used them before Unwinding, if you lost an arm or a leg.”  He glanced at the Commander, as if seeking his approval.

The Commander nodded.  “Yes, prosthetics were decent substitutes before the discovery of neural grafting,” he agreed.  He patted the fake elbow and admitted, “Surprisingly, this is so much more expensive than getting a part from an Unwind.”

Eren grimaced at how nonchalantly he said ‘part’, as if his arm or leg was something as trivial as the brakes of a car.

“Why didn’t you get an Unwind’s arm?” Jean inquired, bursting into Eren’s thoughts.

The Commander frowned at him.  “I loathe Unwinding,” he said, “so why would I use an arm received from an Unwind victim?”

The word echoed in Eren’s head, lodging into the crannies of his brain, and he found himself nodding along with what the Commander was saying.

“Can I join the Scouts?”

The words were out of Eren’s mouth before he could stop them, but they were in the air, and he didn’t regret them, even as the Commander leveled him with a look that was almost sympathetic.

“You’re the one the Unwinds are calling the ‘Shiganshina AWOL’, right?”  When Eren nodded, staring at him with mounting excitement, he smiled regretfully and said, “We don’t take anyone until they’re eighteen, when they can no longer be Unwound.”

“Then can I—“

“We don’t take promises either.  What if you change your mind?”

“Told you,” Jean muttered from beside him.

“I won’t change—“

“Then be patient,” the Commander interrupted, his smile widening.  “We’ll be happy to take you when the time comes.  But you need to understand something:  no one that condones Unwinding is our ally.”

“Yes, of course—“

“And everyone that fights to keep it intact is our enemy.”

“Right, why wouldn’t that—“

“Eren,” the Commander said, shooting him a piercing look, “being in the Scouts is dangerous.  Now, as an AWOL, you could be caught and Unwound, but if you’re in the Scouts, you could die.  We’re rebels in the eyes of the government and the Juvie cops, and this is a civil war.”

Eren didn’t ask him how he knew his name, didn’t even pay attention to how sweaty his palms were.  _You could die._

“The sister of a very close friend of mine was killed by Juvie cops,” the Commander continued, his eyes flitting between Eren and Jean, “and she was young, barely free of the threat of Unwinding, and there have been others too.  So you need to understand. . .”  He lowered his voice and leaned forward slightly.  “Would you be willing to take that risk?”

Eren nodded immediately, ignoring Jean’s hissed, _‘Fucking suicidal bastard.’_

The Commander frowned.  “I believe you now,” he said, “but later?  You have at least two years to think about it, so I suggest you use that time towards that.  Maybe you’ll change your mind and decide you want a peaceful life?  We won’t resent you for that.”  He appraised him one last time before turning his back, an obvious dismissal, even as he added, “And you should go to the infirmary, get those bruises looked at.”

Eren stood up, slowly, trembling slightly with a new resolve as he made his way to the plane’s exit, Jean right behind him.  They climbed back down to the runway in silence, the tension from their previous fight evaporating once they started towards the infirmary.

They ignored the shouts and whoops coming from the entertainment jet, the so-called ‘game plane’, walking side by side, until Eren said, “I’m going to join.”

“I know.”  Jean sounded sad, regretful, as the words left his mouth.

Eren opened the door to the infirmary and flicked on the lights, at least until he noticed a couple in the corner, firmly locked at the lips and groping each other.  He felt his face warm even as he plunged them back into darkness, and while his eyes adjusted to it, he could hear soft moans and harsh breaths from the couple’s direction.

He did his best to ignore them, and Jean standing right behind him, while he searched the cabinet for two cold packs and the tube of Neosporin.  He found the ointment first and held it out behind him.  “I’m assuming you can do this yourself,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” Jean agreed, taking it.

Once Eren found the cold packs, he passed one to Jean and pressed one to his own eye, wincing as he applied pressure.  They sat on the floor across from each other, Jean dabbing Neosporin onto his cut lip and Eren holding a cold pack to his eye.  He refused to look at him, didn’t want to resume their argument or even think about what could be happening in the noisier corner of the cabin, didn’t want to consider how it would be if he and Jean were in such a compromising situation. . .

He wrenched his mind from that inappropriate train of thought and touched his swelling eye again.  He sighed and returned the cold pack; it was enough application, and he was unusually drained.

They walked towards the game plane together, for lack of anything better to do; it was still only two hours after sunset in the beginning of winter.  Eren tugged his jacket closer to his body at the nighttime chill.

“You could join too, you know,” Eren suggested quietly, glancing at Jean.

Jean rolled his eyes and scowled, but there didn’t seem to be any real fire behind it, even as he shivered in the desert breeze.

“Don’t you want to stop Unwinding?” Eren inquired.  He wanted to reach out and offer his warmth, but he also wanted Jean to understand him and why he wanted to be in the Scouts, that Jean was smart and had so much to offer them. . .

“Of course I want to stop Unwinding,” Jean emphasized, “but I don’t want to die either.”

“You won’t die, asshole,” Eren told him.

“You don’t know that,” Jean pointed out, glowering at the ground.  Then, he glanced at Eren, gaze surprisingly soft.  “I don’t want you to die either.”

Eren’s heart pounded loudly, as if such a sentiment was equivalent to a love confession.  “It’s, uh, I’m glad,” he said lamely.

Jean sighed and shook his head, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.  “You’re really frustrating to be around, you know that?”

Eren shrugged.  “I don’t do it on purpose.”

Jean snorted, as if he didn’t believe him.  “Yeah, I figured.”  He once more glanced at Eren, something in his eyes hardening, and walked away.

Eren had the uncomfortable, unwelcome suspicion that he wouldn’t be talking to him for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, including those of the critical variety, are always appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I prove I'm not so good at writing angst.
> 
> But yes, this chapter is angst.
> 
> Everyone is hungry ~~but Eren is the only one that's thirsty.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the tiny bit of violence at the end.
> 
> Also inconsistent chapter lengths are the bane of my existence.

Eren decided that he wasn’t going to let how much Jean spoke to him dictate his happiness.  That being said, there was something lonely about that evening, when their eyes never met, not even by accident, when Jean tugged his sleeping bag away from Eren’s, when Eren jerked awake after a nightmare of faces crowding and staring at him without any comfort to seek.

And it was strange, after all this time, for Eren and Jean not to interact.  Maybe their willingness to drift apart could be blamed on the plethora of Unwinds present at the Graveyard, but before, when all seemed well, even while still at the warehouse, even amidst their other arguments, they’d mostly kept to themselves.

Now Eren was left contemplating his own ability, or lack thereof, to make friends.  Well, at least he had Annie and her occasional conversation.

Sasha took to joining him and Annie during meals as well, filling their silences with chatter about her old life (she loved hunting) and gossip from Unwind cooks.

But Annie was interested in other things.  “So are our portions getting smaller?” she asked Sasha.

The other girl glanced at her, frowning.  “What?”

Annie prodded her potatoes with her fork.  “We’re getting less food every day,” she pointed out.

Eren looked between the two girls, at Annie’s blank expression and Sasha’s frightened face.  He stared at Sasha, waiting for her to confirm or deny the shorter girl’s suspicions, remembering the conversation between Annie and Jean some days ago.

“I, um, we can’t talk about it,” Sasha said after a long pause.

“Hmm, doesn’t sound good,” Annie said.  “Guess they’ll be cancelling lunch soon.”

Sasha changed the subject back to gossip, leaving Eren distinctly perplexed and worried.

“They say Hitch will sleep with anything that moves,” Sasha was saying cheerfully, “but I don’t really believe it.”

Eren grunted as he spooned mashed potatoes into his mouth, amused by Sasha’s animated chatter, glad she was able to take his mind off his concerns, until she said:

“She even hit on Jean, but he turned her down pretty quick.”

Eren grimaced, biting his spoon until it felt like enough pressure to shatter his teeth.

“Say,” Sasha continued, eyes swiveling over to where Jean sat with Marco and Connie, “did you two break up?”

Eren dropped his spoon, barely registering as it landed on his tray with a clatter.

“Believe it or not, they were never together,” Annie informed her with a hint of amusement.

“Really?” Sasha said, raising her eyebrows at Eren.  “With as much as you two eye fucked?”

Eren almost choked on half-chewed mashed potato.

* * *

“We’re running low on supplies,” Eren shot over his shoulder, glancing at where Mina and Hannah stood comparing inventory notes.  He was crouched beside the cabinet where they kept some of the more rudimentary medicines, the antibiotic ointment, cold packs, and Band-Aids.

“Okay, what specifically?” Mina asked, the tip of her pencil poised over her clipboard.

“Band-Aids,” Eren said, shaking the single, almost empty box.  “Neosporin.”  He frowned at the sad, lumpy tube.  “Burn cream, chamomile lotion, gauze, tape. . .”  He listed each item while Mina jotted them down.

“So we’re short on everything?”

“Yeah.”

Mina scowled.  “Fine, what about internal medicine?”

Eren moved on to the next cabinet and began sifting through bottles of cough syrup and plastic canisters of ibuprofen and acetaminophen, most of which were empty.  There was only one lonely container of ibuprofen, and when he shook it, maybe a couple of pills rattled around inside.

“Fuck everything,” Mina moaned.  Eren could hear her frantically scribbling notes while Hannah tried to cheer her up.

When they finished taking inventory, Mina announced, “I’m going to talk to Ymir.  This is kind of an emergency.”  She set her clipboard down on a table and made her way to the entrance of the plane, until she turned back around and leveled Eren and Hannah with a fierce glare.  “And no one gets _anything_ unless they’re dying, got it?”  She left without waiting for them to agree, and Eren and Hannah exchanged worried glances.

“How long has it been since the last delivery?” Eren wondered.

“We get deliveries each time we get AWOL Unwinds,” Hannah explained.  “So not for a month; that’s how long you’ve been here, right?”

Eren nodded and frowned.  He wondered if this was related to the food shortage; Jean would probably—

He bit his lip, and when someone came in complaining about a sore throat, he used that to occupy his thoughts.

Mina returned after an hour, looking relieved.  “Ymir’s sending a few of us out to do a supply run,” she told Eren and Hannah once another patient departed.

“Where?” Eren wondered.  “I thought we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“We are,” Mina said, quirking an eyebrow at him, “but even the middle of nowhere can be close to _somewhere_ , right?”

Eren scowled at her cryptic answer.

“Anyway, I should be back by tomorrow morning; hold down the fort while I’m gone, okay?  Same rules, emergencies only.”

“Y-yeah,” Eren agreed.

“See you,” Hannah said, waving as Mina once more left, looking considerably more cheerful and hopeful than before.

It was infectious, Eren realized as he and Hannah exchanged grins.

* * *

“So there was a supply run today,” Eren told Annie while they waited outside the dining plane for lunch.

Annie glanced at him, silently bidding him to continue.

“Mina went, since we’re low on medical supplies,” he explained.  “I wonder if anyone from the kitchen went. . .”  He looked up, at the crowd milling around the plane.

“Probably,” Annie said, “but I doubt they would send a newbie like Jean, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Eren felt his face flush.  “I wasn’t fucking wondering about _that_ ,” he grumbled, right as Hitch, the blonde girl in charge of running the kitchen, appeared at the top of the stairs.

She shouted for quiet a few a times, and when everyone lingering around gave her the attention she demanded, the permanent-seeming smirk on her lips turned into a serious expression as she announced, “So sorry everyone, but lunchtime is cancelled indefinitely!  Be back for dinner and breakfast!”

She spun around and went back into the plane before the silence over the crowd broke, everyone shouting angrily for an explanation, for a snack, for something to see them through till supper.

A few paces away, Connie quipped, “They must be regretting taking Sasha now.”

Eren rolled his eyes and exchanged a glance with Annie, whose normally disinterested face morphed into concern.  “It’ll be fine tomorrow,” he told her quickly.  “They probably sent someone to get food along with Mina.”

“‘Probably’ won’t be good enough if there’s a riot,” Annie said, trickling away into the crowd and returning to her own tasks.

Eren frowned after her before shaking his head and departing for the infirmary, ignoring the hungry rumbling of his stomach and the dread curling in his gut.

* * *

Dinner, as could’ve been expected, was a dismal affair, the entire plane filled with the sounds of metal forks against plastic plates rather than cheerful evening conversation, the portions just as small as they had been lately despite the lunch cancellation.

The cooks were nowhere to be seen, not Sasha with her smiling face, not Jean with his omnipresent scowl, not even Hitch with her sneer.

Eren finished his food too quickly and stared at his empty tray while Annie tapped out an uneven rhythm with her fork.  “Do you know how long we’ve been here?” he asked her.

She shrugged.  “I lost track,” she told him, “but I think more than a month.”

Eren grunted in response.  It was a long, slow month, the monotony only briefly interrupted by his and Jean’s last – permanent – fight.  But he was a month closer to his eighteenth birthday, so there was that. . .

“. . .keep the food?”

The quiet, unfamiliar voice pulled Eren from his thoughts, and he glanced over his shoulder to see none other than the wispy haired boy from the warehouse talking to a tall boy with a bowl cut.

Bowl Cut frowned.  “Yeah, why?”

“Because I’m hungry, and if this _rationing_ and _meal clipping_ lasts for long, I’ll have to think of my survival, won’t I?”

Bowl Cut sighed.  “I’m not telling you where they keep the food.”

“Come on, Marlow,” Wispy Hair whined.

“No.”

Eren peered at Annie, who stared straight back, raising her eyebrows as if to say, _‘See?’_

He nodded, biting his lip and frowning.

When he saw Jean in the dormitory that evening, he couldn’t help but stare and wonder if underneath his overgrown undercut, he was as worried about impending famine as Eren was worried about him.

* * *

Mina didn’t return to the infirmary the following morning, and lunchtime was still nonexistent, even as hopefuls, Eren amongst them, queued outside the dining plane waiting for the door to open.  Hitch didn’t even bother making an announcement this time, but a sign reading  _‘See you at dinner, motherfuckers’_ gave them all the answers they needed.

But together, Eren and Hannah located Ymir barking angry orders at a couple of thirteen-year-olds.  When she was done, her scowl relaxing into a smirk, she glanced at them, eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Where’s Mina?” Eren demanded immediately.

“Don’t know,” Ymir told him, shrugging.  “The supply run people aren’t back yet.”

“Weren’t they supposed to be back this morning?” Hannah asked.

“Supposed to be,” Ymir said, idly looping her finger through her ponytail, “but plans change sometimes, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eren agreed, “but this was kind of important.”

“Look, if I had all the answers,” Ymir retorted, sounding annoyed, “I’d give them to you, but you need to go mind your own fucking business for now till Mina and the others get back, okay?”

Eren narrowed his eyes at her, irritated as well, but he let Hannah grab his shoulder and tug him away towards the infirmary.

The rest of the day withered away slowly, with Eren glancing at the door every time he heard footsteps, scowling every time it was someone with a minor cut or cough rather than Mina.  Hannah was already deferring to him for orders for some reason, even though she’d been working at the infirmary longer than him, and he was eager for their actual boss to return and replenish their dwindling supplies.

Just five minutes before Eren was about to set out for dinner, Connie came in, looking uncharacteristically worried as he showed Eren his injured finger.

“I shut a door on it,” he explained.

Eren stared at the already dried blood and the blue bruise, then turned his back and rummaged through the cabinet for an antiseptic wipe and the last bit of gauze and Neosporin.  When he returned his attention to Connie, he’d sat down, balancing his chin in his unhurt hand.

“Have you seen Marco?” he asked Eren.

Eren shook his head as he set to work, wiggling the finger in case it was broken.  When Connie didn’t react, he decided it wasn’t and began to wrap it.  “I haven’t seen him since breakfast yesterday.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Connie said.  “I asked Jean too, but he said he went on a supply run with a few others.”

Eren jerked his head up.  Marco and Mina both went on the supply run. . .  “They were supposed to be back this morning,” he admitted.

Connie’s eyes widened.  “Well, shit,” he said.  “They’re late.”

“No shit,” Eren muttered.  He set down Connie’s hand.  “Um, come back tomorrow to see if it needs anything else.”

“Right, I’ll do that,” Connie said, waving as he departed.

* * *

Eren barely slept that night, plagued as he was by nightmares, part claustrophobia and part  _other_ things, whatever  _those_ were.  He was strapped to a table, with a faceless  _something_ standing over him, holding a scalpel, silhouetted by a blinding lamp.

He struggled, wiggling everywhere from his arms to his toes, but the straps held tight, even as he started attempting to jerk into an upright position, straining against the pressure with all his strength.  He tried to shout at the faceless knife-bearer, but when he opened his mouth, no sound came out.  He licked his lips and thought he could taste the iron tang of blood.

The silhouette held the knife to his neck right over his throat, the metal cold against his skin, and he swallowed reflexively, feeling the edge cut into him with the motion.  _Fuck, no,_ he tried to say, even as the silhouette – the Unwind doctor – grinned, their white teeth, young teeth, teeth from another Unwind, glinting maliciously.

A warm hand slipped into his, and he gripped it tightly, the only thing he was able to do.  It made him feel grounded, and the mouth hanging over him turned from a leering grin to a worried frown, and then the thin lips were parting and mouthing, _‘Eren?’_

“Eren!”

He sat up rapidly, panting, his heart pounding in his chest.  He stared around, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the dormitory, until he saw Jean kneeling beside him, staring, his own hazel eyes wide.

“J-just a nightmare,” Eren told him once he’d caught his breath, meeting his gaze.  “Just a fucking awful nightmare.”

Jean nodded in acknowledgement and said, “You were talking in your sleep again.  You sounded. . .distressed.”

Eren didn’t reply, and then he registered that the hand he’d felt in his in the dream was Jean’s, and that he was still holding tight.  He gaped down at the contact, at his pale skin against his darker, shifting his fingers along Jean’s palm ever so slightly.

“I-I’m fine now,” he said, a little shakily.  _Thanks to you probably._

Relief colored Jean’s face, and he squeezed Eren’s hand.  “G-good.”  Then, he let go and returned to his own sleeping bag, as if nothing had happened.

Eren glared after him, feeling like something was squeezing his heart or his gut, resentful that it took this long, and _this_ , for Jean to break their silence.  Eren considered going after him, demanding answers for, well, _whatever_ , but he decided against it as he saw Jean’s closed eyes, his chest rising and falling in untroubled breaths.

Eren conceded that he could be patient, or at least try to.

* * *

When the supply run group – and Mina – still didn’t return for a week, Ymir put Eren in charge of the infirmary.

“What?” he said once she’d given him the order.  “I’ve only been here for eight fucking weeks!”

“Congrats, you’re rising in the ranks,” she retorted snidely, rolling her eyes.

Eren resisted the urge to snap the clipboard he held in his hands.

“Look, Eren,” Ymir said, sobering up, “I hate to say this, but I don’t think Mina, Marco, and Milius are coming back.  So we’re gonna have to make do without them.”

“But what about _supplies_?” Eren emphasized, waving the clipboard irritably and swallowing his fear for the missing Unwinds.

“Let _me_ and _the Commander_ worry about that,” Ymir advised consolingly, tapping her chest.  “You don’t need to concern your pretty little head over it, okay?”  She patted him on the head condescendingly, then left before he could demand answers.

“Fucking dammit,” Eren yelled, lobbing the clipboard across the cabin and ignoring Hannah’s startled yelp.

He clenched his hands into fists as he went to retrieve it.  Armin would know what to do, probably about everything.  Where the missing Unwinds disappeared to; how to get food and medicine; how to deal with _Jean. . ._

“Eren?”

He glanced up from the fallen clipboard to see Jean himself standing at the entrance of the jet, his expression cautious and eager at the same time.  Eren’s own face twisted into a scowl, his stomach immediately churning with anger.

“Are you hurt?” he asked Jean, glaring, although some concern might’ve entered his voice.  When he shook his head, Eren wondered, “Then what the fuck do you want?  I’m busy.”

“It’s important, okay?” Jean said, tone conciliatory.  “And, uh, I’m sorry about before.  I had no right to, well. . .”

Eren looked at his face, at the guilt all over it, and remembered his nightmare and Jean’s comfort.  When he opened his mouth to continue his apology, Eren quickly interrupted, “It’s, um, whatever.  Doesn’t matter now.”  He offered him a slight smile.

Jean returned it, his face brightening considerably as he flashed teeth.

“So what’s the problem?” Eren inquired.

Jean took it as an invitation to approach, and Eren didn’t stop him, as he said, “Okay, well, I was talking to an Unwind that’s been here longer than us – Marlow – and I found some things out.”

Eren raised an eyebrow.  “Okay?”  The name sounded familiar, and he suddenly recalled the conversation between ‘Bowl Cut’ and the wispy haired homophobe.

Jean eagerly continued, “According to Marlow, before we got here, supplies used to come here pretty regularly by plane, and new AWOL Unwinds came almost every month.”

“So?”

“ _So_ we’ve been here for two months, right?  And there haven’t been new Unwinds since _we_ got here, and there haven’t been any supplies shipped out.”

Eren nodded.  “Right, but why—“

“Apparently, there’s also a road about twenty miles away, goes to a small town, and sometimes, when shipments don’t arrive on time, a few kids get sent out on ‘supply runs’.”

“Yeah, that’s where Mina. . .”  Eren’s eyes widened, realization dawning on him.

Jean’s own face was alight with excitement.  “Yeah, Marco too,” he said, “but there was something I overheard Ymir telling Historia.”  He frowned, worry coloring his voice as he stared intently at Eren.  “There’ve been more Juvie cops flooding that town than usual, and I think. . .”  He pinched his eyes shut.  “I think the Juvies know about the Graveyard.”

Eren gaped at him.  “What?” he said.  “No way, Jean, no fucking way.”

Jean leaned forward, grabbing his shoulders.  “No, think about it, Eren,” he insisted.  “Three Unwinds go to town for food and medicine, and it’s an _emergency_ , and none of them come back?”

Eren shook his head.  “No, that. . .”  He grimaced, swallowing.  “But this means—“

“We’re not safe,” Jean said, nodding.  “They know we’re here, and they can invade anytime.  _And_ they’ve probably been keeping _other_ Unwinds and supplies from getting here.”

Eren stepped out of his reach, ignoring the hot imprint left on his shoulders.  He clutched his face.  “Fuck, you need to tell the Commander.”

To his surprise, Jean immediately agreed.  “Y-yeah, but I need you to come with me.”

“Wait, what?  This is _your_ crazy theory.”

“Don’t care,” Jean said, grabbing Eren’s wrist and tugging him towards the plane’s exit.

“Hey, asshole, I can’t just leave.”

Jean snorted and shot over his shoulder, “Hey, you!”  When Hannah glanced in his direction, he told her, “You’re in charge till Eren gets back!”

“Um.  . .”  She looked at Eren, who rolled his eyes but didn’t resist.

Once they were outside, walking along the runway, Eren wrenched his arm from Jean’s grip.  “I can walk by myself, thanks,” he muttered in response to Jean’s reproachful glance.

“Come on then,” Jean said, pacing ahead of Eren.

“Yeah, fine,” Eren said, jogging to catch up with Jean’s slightly longer stride.  He glanced up at his determined face, the furrow in his brow and the frown on his lips.  “You know,” he said snidely, “I thought you didn’t want to help the Scouts.”

Jean darted his eyes at Eren, his frown momentarily turning into a grin.  “I never said I didn’t want to _help_ them,” he retorted.  “I just didn’t want to join.”

“Oh, past tense?”

“You’re an even bigger asshole than I am,” Jean complained, sounding both annoyed and amused.

“No, I’m just not as big of an idiot as you think,” Eren shot back easily.  He smiled at Jean, pleased that their weird camaraderie could be resumed so easily, as if their previous fight never happened, as if this too was the aftermath of his last nightmare.

But they were detoured on their way to the Commander’s plane by the chaos outside the dining hall, where a large knot of people stood clustered at the base of the steps and fought to climb them, pushing past a human blockade in an attempt to get up.

“Fuck,” Jean muttered, turning away from Eren and sprinting towards the crowd.

“Wait, Jean—“  But he was already gone, vanished in its midst.  Eren followed, only to see that some of the Unwinds embroiled in the chaos – the _riot_ – were armed, wielding kitchen knives and _forks_ of all things.  Not particularly dangerous, but Eren could already spot a few faces and arms with cuts and bruises.

Eren fought through the crowd, struggling to get to the front, to find Jean, to figure out what was going on.  He dodged a punch and lobbed his own, barely pausing for it to connect.  His breathing grew shallow, the sky overhead seemed to disappear in the surge of bodies and shouts, but he elbowed people aside, eyes peeled for a familiar face.

He didn’t see Annie, which was a relief, but Annie had predicted this, Annie was smart enough to stay away.

He spotted Sasha pretty quickly though, saw her glaring at a boy that was trying to attack her with his fists.  She lashed out at him, catching his arm and holding it away from her while he raised his other fist.

Eren grabbed him by the offending arm and flung him away, ignoring his noise of indignation and turning to Sasha.  “What happened?” he demanded, shouting to be heard over the yelling and sounds of fighting surrounding them.

“Some kid led a bunch of other Unwinds here demanding lunch,” she explained, clutching her side as if there was an injury there.  “They found out where we keep the food and threatened to burn the rest of it if we didn’t serve.”

Eren gaped at her.  “That’s fucked up.”

“Tell me about it,” she agreed, wincing.

“You should get out of here,” he advised, glancing at her side.

“I know, but who’s going to—“

But Eren was already gone, still fighting his way forward, dodging flying utensils and fists.  He spotted Hitch, the kitchen boss, scratching at an assailant’s eyes, her lips curled into a snarl, he saw Reiner attempting to pull Connie away from a girl with a butter knife, and then he finally caught sight of Jean, struggling against the wispy haired boy.

“Back off,” Jean said, grabbing the collar of his shirt.

“No,” the boy denied, aiming a punch at Jean’s face.

It connected with his nose, breaking it with a sickening crunch, and Eren rushed forward, stomach already turning unpleasantly, and tackled the other Unwind.  “You fucking leave him alone,” he hissed, sitting on his back and shoving his face into the dirt.

“Eren—“

“Get the fuck off!” the boy demanded, thrashing his arms, but Eren, too angry to listen to him, glanced up at Jean, who gaped at him.

“I had it under control!” Jean said, obviously annoyed.

“Didn’t look like it!” Eren retorted, narrowing his eyes at the cut on his cheek, the blood already dripping from his nose.

Someone else yanked him backwards, tossing him to the ground, and he lay there, dazed by the impact, ready to jump up and fight whoever attacked him, whoever would dare to hurt Jean, the faces of all the bullies that ever threatened Armin flashing across his mind, until he saw Ymir standing over him, yelling in a voice way too loud to be natural:

“Everyone calm the fuck down!”

It took a few minutes, and a few more shouts, but eventually all the Unwinds dropped their kitchen-inspired weapons and turned their attention to Ymir, who had her arms crossed and looked absolutely livid.  Eren tried to stand, but he was stopped by her foot against his chest.

“Hey, the fuck?  Let me up!”

She didn’t budge, just staring around at the crowd.  “So what the fuck happened here?” she demanded, looking over her shoulder at Jean and the wispy haired boy, who rubbed a black eye that Eren hadn’t seen earlier.  Then she peered down at Eren.  “Don’t tell me you dumbasses got into _another_ fight?”

“What the fuck?” Jean grumbled at the same time as Eren said, “No!”

“Okay, good.”  And with that she moved her foot.

Eren wasted no time in standing, watching as Ymir mounted the stairs to the dining plane so she could see the crowd, or maybe seem _important._

“All right, Hitch!  I think I know what happened!” she announced.  “But who started it?”

Eren turned to see Hitch approaching, swiping at a thin cut on her forehead like a cat cleaning its wounds, but she wasted no time in pointing at the wispy haired boy standing a few feet from Jean.  “That _asshole_ ,” she hissed.  “ _Boris_.”

The boy – Boris – blanched and opened his mouth to speak, but Ymir was quick to interrupt him.

“Fine, you get the punishment.  Come with me.”  She descended from the stairs and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him away between the clustered teenagers.

Meanwhile, Historia, using a megaphone to be heard, said, “Please go back to your regular activities.”

Slowly, the crowd dispersed, at least into little disgruntled knots, but Eren wasted no time in approaching Jean and flinging his arms around his neck.  Relief flooded him even as he stumbled back a few paces thanks to the force of his embrace.

 “Eren, get off of me,” Jean said, trying to shove him away.  “I’m _fine_ , it’s just a scratch and a few bruises.”

Eren refused and held tight to him.  “Jean, your nose is fucking broken,” he mumbled into his shoulder.

“L-look, if I die today, it’ll probably be from you fucking _suffocating_ me,” Jean complained, “not from a _broken nose_.”

Eren stiffened, hearing the tremor in his voice.  He backed away but still didn’t let go, and spotted the pink in Jean’s cheeks, how he kept his eyes averted, his hands on Eren’s arms, half resting and half gripping.

“Oh,” Eren realized, eyes widening.

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Jean said, rolling his eyes.  “Now let g—“

Eren kissed him, right on the lips, the way he’d wanted to for months, feeling Jean’s sharp intake of breath, against his skin, at the contact before he returned the pressure.  He ignored the metallic taste of blood and wrapped his arms more firmly around his neck, leaning his head away ever so slightly when arms wound around his waist.

“I changed my mind,” Jean muttered, quick breaths hot against Eren’s cheek, smiling.

Eren laughed.  “Good,” he said before kissing Jean again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are fuel for my writing. I appreciate [polite] concrit as well. =]


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff + plot = angst
> 
> Alternatively, Eren and Jean 'get together' (whatever that entails; [cough]), and then hatch and enact a plan with Annie.
> 
> (I am bad at summaries.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, mentions of homophobia and minor violence towards the end.
> 
> The first half of this chapter is basically fluff (there is no smut and there will never be smut, but there is making out so if you're uncomfortable with that, you know what to do) and the plot-heavy stuff is in the second half. So, yeah. Enjoy. =]

“Hannah’s probably overwhelmed by now,” Eren told Jean as the latter buried his face in his neck.

“So?” Jean said, muffled against Eren’s skin.

Eren’s breath caught, but he forced his voice to remain steady as he insisted, “ _So_ I should help her, shouldn’t I?”

Jean hummed, as if in agreement, but he still kept his arms wrapped tightly around Eren.

“Jean, quit being selfish,” Eren muttered against his ear, his own arms slack at his sides.  “And I need to look at your nose too.”

Jean flinched, as if something had bitten him.

“Look,” Eren said, fighting to keep the amusement out of his tone, “you can be selfish later, but now—“  He cut himself off as soon as Jean let him go and stepped away.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Jean said, nodding and smiling.

“Great,” Eren said, grabbing his face and looking a little more closely at his nose.  If he could just. . .

“Ah, fuck!” Jean yelled once Eren set it, reaching up and swatting his hands away, clutching at his nose.  “Asshole!”

Eren flashed him an unapologetic grin and took off down the runway, back to the infirmary.

As predicted, the inside was in almost as much chaos as the dining plane had been, with Hannah standing at the front trying to maintain order while she examined a nasty bruise on an Unwind’s face.  Eren shoved his way through those with varying degrees of injury till he stood with her, gesturing for the next person to come forward.

It was several hours past sunset – and at least one after dinner – till the last patients left, most of them disgruntled that all they got was a figurative kiss on the booboo and a suggestion to keep it clean.  Most people were lucky, even the ones poked and prodded by eating utensils, but a few had deeper gashes in their arms or legs that needed to be stitched up.

The worst injury was a broken leg, gifted to an Unwind named Marlow, who apologized profusely.

“Boris started it,” he told Eren through teeth gritted with pain.  “I told him where the food was stored, and then he—“  He broke off with a yelp as Eren set and bound the bone.

“Yeah, well, Ymir will sort him out,” Eren said, shrugging to feign nonchalance, but his blood was boiling as he also remembered Boris as the kid who called him a ‘fag’ at the warehouse.  He found a pair of crutches, the only thing they weren’t short on, and passed them to Marlow along with a rare ibuprofen tablet.  “You can spend the night here, if you want.”

Marlow shook his head.  “I’ll be fine,” he said, standing up and balancing on his good leg and the crutches.  “Thank you.”

“No problem.”  Eren watched him hobble down the stairs, sighing with relief when he heard the soft impact of a single foot on sand.  Then, he glanced at Hannah.  “I think we’re done here tonight.”

She nodded at him, slumped with exhaustion, and after she left, he locked up the infirmary and headed out to the dormitory, feeling awfully tired himself.

His exhaustion vanished when he spotted Jean ahead, his hair illuminated in the moonlight and holding out a tray of food.  “I, uh, saved you something,” he said, offering it with a shy smile.

Eren wanted to tackle him to the ground and kiss him right there, but he restrained himself, instead accepting the food with a murmured, “Thanks.”

Then he realized he didn’t know where to go, and when he looked at Jean, he looked just as clueless as him.  “Game plane?” he suggested.

Eren quickly shook his head.  “I, uh, I kind of want to be alone with you,” he admitted.  “Dining jet?”

Jean flushed at his words then said, “It’s closed and I don’t have the key.”

“Dormitory?”

Jean snorted.  “Whatever you have in mind will be interrupted pretty fucking quickly.”

“Oh, you _know_ what I have in mind.”  Eren winked at him, causing his face to redden even more.  It was stupidly adorable.

Jean rolled his eyes through his blush, then he smirked.  “Infirmary?”

“You fucking pervert.”  When Jean glowered at him, Eren said, “All right, let’s do it.”  Then, with some help from Jean’s alarmed expression, he quickly amended, “I mean, not _it_ , obviously, because, um. . .”

Then Jean started laughing as he led the way, and Eren joined in without too much delay.

They broke into the cockpit, a room almost too small for Eren to handle, but when he felt his breathing constrict and Jean’s firm grip on his arm attempting to lead him away, Eren quickly told him, “It’s fine.  I’m with you, so I’m fine.”

Jean coughed, sounding awkward, as they sat down, leaning against the wall.  Eren balanced the dinner tray in his lap, his legs stretched out in front of him, while Jean had his crossed.

Eren ate quickly, rejuvenating his strength, starving after everything, from Jean’s discoveries, to the riot, to examining everyone that was injured during.  Meanwhile, Jean spoke idly, his voice shaking ever so slightly, especially when he talked about where he came from.

“I was born and raised in Trost,” he said, tugging on a loose thread in the carpet.  “I guess we never really lived that far apart, huh?  It’s, like, an hour away from Shiganshina?”

Eren snickered.  “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I hated school,” Jean confessed quietly.

Eren glanced at him.  “Why?”

“Rich kids are fucking stupid.  And yeah, I include myself.”  Jean snorted and continued, “And the teachers were really fucking condescending.  And, like, whenever they disciplined, it was always, ‘If your parents find out, they might have you Unwound.’”  He rolled his eyes.  “A quarter of the students had siblings who were tithes, so that was. . .”  He swallowed, shuddering.  “I guess that’s when I first figured out there was something wrong with Unwinding.”

“O-oh?”

“Y-yeah.”

They fell silent, and Eren, finished with his food, set his tray aside.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned towards Jean, grasping his hand and perching his chin on his shoulder.

Jean turned his head to look at him, his frown softening into a more neutral expression as he informed him, “We still need to talk to the Commander.”

“Yeah, we’ll do it tomorrow,” Eren decided.

“O-okay,” Jean agreed, eyes fluttering closed as Eren kissed him.

Jean’s free hand made its way to the back of Eren’s head, fingers tangling in his hair.  He decided he liked it there, the feeling of Jean stroking the thick strands and holding him in place while their lips worked together.  Eren reached his own other hand forward and touched Jean’s cheek, tentatively at first, then more firmly, holding on.

They paused to catch their breaths, and Jean admitted, “I-I’ve never kissed anyone before.  Am I doing this right?”

“Like hell if I know,” Eren retorted.  He let go of Jean’s hand and touched his lips, feeling the damp of someone else’s saliva on them.  “This is weird; why do people kiss?”

“Like hell if I know,” Jean scoffed, eyes sparking teasingly.

“Hey, that’s copyrighted,” Eren said, lightly shoving Jean’s shoulder.

“I just violated your copyright then,” Jean fired back, knocking his fist into Eren’s arm, his voice low.

Eren shivered.  “Well, you fucking nerd, I don’t care why other people kiss; I just know I like it.”

“Y-yeah, but really, I don’t want to kiss anyone else.”

Eren could practically _hear_ the blush in his voice, and his own took residence on his face.  He gripped Jean’s head firmly in both hands and leaned forward again.  “Hey,” he muttered, “kiss me.”

“What do you _think_ I’ve been doing, idiot?” Jean demanded.

“No, you do it first this time,” Eren said.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Jean retorted, his hot breath washing over Eren’s face, but he did it anyway.

This time, both of his hands tangled in Eren’s hair, and he wondered vaguely if Jean had a thing for it.  Not that he minded, of course.

Eren slowly parted his lips, just a little, letting his teeth scrape against Jean’s mouth.  When he hummed approvingly, he bit down, feeling satisfied when he gasped.

“H-hey,” he stuttered against Eren’s mouth.

“What?”

“Th-that’s not fair!”

“H-how’s that not fair?”  Eren nipped at his bottom lip again, and when Jean’s grip on him tightened, he couldn’t help but smirk triumphantly.

“H-hey, fuck you,” Jean mumbled breathily, but he didn’t sound angry.

“N-not tonight,” Eren joked.

“Mm, shut up, Eren,” Jean muttered, mouth pressing more firmly against Eren’s.

It didn’t take long for fairly chaste, biting kisses to turn into open-mouthed exploration, but it was definitely awkward, with noses bumping (inciting a fair amount of winces from Jean), teeth scraping, and tongues barely touching.

But maybe it was perfect, or so Eren’s lack of experience could tell him.  He felt lightheaded, floating and dizzy with affection and pleasure, Jean’s muted sighs and gasps music to his ears (and to other body parts too if he was being honest).  Their hands didn’t wander much, stuck to heads, arms, and shoulders, but everywhere Jean touched burned, the air around them almost too hot to breathe.

Jean pulled a few millimeters away from him, panting like he’d just run a marathon.  “Is it weird that we’re making out yet we don’t even know each other’s last names?” he wondered, voice still soft, once he caught his breath.

“Um, not really,” Eren said.  He tried to bridge the gap between them, to continue, but Jean turned his face so that his lips connected with his cheek instead.  He scowled and grumbled, “I’m trying to kiss you, asshole.”

“You did,” Jean pointed out, tapping his cheek.  He nudged Eren away a little.  “But I meant it.  What’s your last name?”

Eren stared at him, at his earnest, open expression, his brow wrinkled in an almost worried way.  He pressed his fingertip to the furrow, chuckling when Jean grabbed his hand and held tight.  “It’s Jaeger,” he told him.  “What’s yours?”

Jean hummed thoughtfully.  “Eren Jaeger.  It suits you, for some reason.”

Eren raised an eyebrow at him.  “The fuck?  That doesn’t make sense.”  He reached forward with their joined hands and poked him in the knee.  “I asked you a question too.”

“Uh, Jean Kirstein,” he told him, smiling sheepishly.

“I know your _first_ name,” Eren said, rolling his eyes, but he still grinned.  “So, Jean Kirstein, can we continue?”

Jean’s smile transformed into a teasing smirk as he leaned forward again.  He touched his lips to Eren’s for a second, barely in a kiss, his breath spreading teasingly over his mouth, before drawing back again.

“You fucking tease,” Eren muttered, but he didn’t press it, sensing Jean had something to say.

“I, uh, I really like you,” Jean said quickly, and even in this proximity, with his eyes crossed, Eren could see the flush spreading across his face.  “I don’t know why, ‘cause I kind of hated you at first, but I do.  I like you a lot.”

Eren’s stomach practically _fluttered_ at the words, and even though it should’ve been easy to infer, with the way Jean reacted to his kiss, the way they’d clung to each other and _made out_ since, his head still felt lighter once he heard the actual words.

“L-like, I like you enough that I, uh, started seeing these really small things,” Jean continued, sounding a little braver.

“Oh yeah?” Eren challenged.  “Like what?”

“Your ears turn red when you lie.”

Eren gaped at him.  “What?  N-no they don’t!”

Jean laughed and tilted his head back, his eyes flitting side to side.  “Holy _shit_ they do.”

Eren let go of Jean’s hand and covered both of his ears.  “Y-you asshole!”

Jean rolled his eyes, looking incredibly amused, and reached forward and grabbed Eren’s hands, attempting to pry them away from his ears.  “It’s, uh, really cute though,” he commented shyly.

Eren felt his whole face heat up, then he confessed, “I thought you were straight.”  He let his hands fall down, palms up, while Jean’s rested on top.

Jean snorted.  “What the fuck made you think that?”

“Y-you said Mikasa was hot.”  Eren really missed that photo.

Jean rolled his eyes, invading his space again.  “You’re really dense, you know that?”

“No I’m not!” Eren denied immediately.

“Yeah, I can’t believe you never noticed me, like, checking you out,” Jean admitted, blushing again.  “And I’m _bi_ , okay?  That’s definitely a thing.”

“W-well, you never noticed me doing the same thing,” Eren retorted quickly.

Jean sighed through his nose.  “O-okay, fine,” he said.  “We’re both really fucking dense.”

“Ha!” Eren crowed triumphantly.  He wrapped Jean in a tight embrace again and pulled him down so that they lay on their sides, facing each other.  Or they would’ve been if Eren didn’t have his face buried in Jean’s neck.  “And, um, in case it wasn’t obvious, I really fucking like you too.”

“Dumbass,” Jean muttered affectionately into his ear, his ankles somehow weaving between Eren’s.

“You need a haircut,” Eren quipped, running his fingers through the soft brown threads on the back of Jean’s head.

He leaned back into the touch, grinning lazily.  “You’re one to talk,” he scoffed.  “I can’t even see your eyes anymore.”

Eren retracted his hand to brush his bangs away from his face.  He could see Jean tracing the motion with his eyes before he reached out and twined a strand of Eren’s hair around his index finger.

Eren knocked his hand away.  “You can’t touch if you complain,” he said.

“Wasn’t complaining,” Jean mumbled, ruffling Eren’s hair.  “I _like_ your hair.”

“Sounded like you were complaining,” Eren pointed out, still trying to bat his hand away.

Jean kept his arm just out of reach, only to dart it forward and touch his hair again.  “Yeah, but that’s because I can’t figure out if I like your eyes or your hair better.”

Eren finally caught Jean’s wrist, holding it out in front of him.  With his free hand, he pushed his bangs up and flattened them over his head, glaring at Jean, who laughed and leaned forward.  He reached around Eren and placed his hand against the back of his head, fingers buried in his hair, pulling him closer.

Eren let himself be tugged towards Jean, met him halfway to resume kissing.

Next time they broke apart to breathe, Eren admitted, “I missed you when we weren’t, you know, talking.”

Jean pressed his face in Eren’s shirt, his nose right over his chest.  “Hmm.”  His arms wrapped around Eren’s back, holding him tightly.

“Hey, I can’t breathe,” Eren complained.

“That’s for earlier, you ass,” Jean mumbled, voice muffled by fabric.

“Oh, how’s your nose?” Eren wondered, remembering.

Jean shifted his head slightly so that his chin was poking Eren in the chest instead.  “Doesn’t really hurt anymore,” he said, frowning.  “You have a magic touch or something, Jaeger?”

Eren grinned at the unusual sound of his last name on Jean’s lips.  “Only for you, Kirstein.”

Jean snorted, and Eren draped his arms loosely over his shoulders, listening to his slowing breathing.  He flicked a few strands of hair at the nape of his neck and muttered, “You fall asleep on me?”

When Eren felt Jean nod against him, he snickered, burying his nose in the taller Unwind’s hair.  He was exhausted himself, his eyes drooping, and he was too comfortable, even if his shoulder was starting to ache from being pressed against the hard floor beneath the carpet.  Who would’ve thought Jean liked cuddling?

“You know, Jean, you’re stupidly hot in that uniform,” Eren told him.

“Well, Eren, you’re just stupidly hot,” Jean retorted.

“You smell like the fucking ocean,” Eren commented mildly.  “All salty and stuff.”

“ _You_ smell like a fucking forest,” Jean shot back, sounding almost drugged.  “Piney and oaky and shit like that.”

Eren rolled his eyes.

“You just rolled your eyes, didn’t you?”

“No,” Eren lied quickly.

Jean reached up, his hands cupping Eren’s ears.  “You’re a fucking liar.”

Eren turned his head quickly and licked the palm of Jean’s hand.

“That’s gross,” Jean complained, wiping his palm in Eren’s hair.

Eren kicked his shin in retaliation, and Jean kneed him in the thigh.

“Nothing’s really changed,” Jean mused.

“That’s not true,” Eren decided, smirking slightly.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eren said.  “You know my last name now.”

“Fuck you, Eren _Jaeger_.”

Eren smiled, ridiculously happy despite their generally shitty situation.

* * *

Any number of things might’ve awoken Eren the following morning, gently pulling him from deep sleep into a sedate, barely conscious doze.  It could’ve been the sun shining into the cockpit, the ache in his neck from sleeping on the floor without any cushioning, the stiffness in his body from lying in one position for too long, or even the stiffness in his pants.

All of the possibilities beat the rude awakening Eren received when the door of the cockpit flung open, almost hard enough to fly off its hinges, and banging into the wall.

“Eren?  What the heck are you doing in here?”

Eren slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the sunlight streaming from the window.  He knew that voice, knew the distinct lack of swears despite the shock, knew the pale, subtly freckled face hanging over him as he turned his head.

“Hannah?”

She was bent over him, eyes narrowed.  “Ymir’s looking for you and, um, your boyfriend,” she said, gaze flitting over to Jean.  She didn’t look the least bit embarrassed or surprised to find them together, much less curled around each other.

Eren stared at her uncomprehendingly.  _Too early, too late; too comfortable, too uncomfortable._ He didn’t know what he felt, so he tightened his grip on Jean ever so slightly.

He grunted, shifting against Eren, fists tightening in their grip on the back of his shirt.

“You woke him up,” Eren accused Hannah, glaring at her.

“Was already awake, dumbass,” Jean mumbled, voice slurred with tiredness.  “You still talk in your sleep.”

Hannah’s eyes widened as Jean disentangled himself from Eren and sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning.  “Ymir looked pretty angry, so. . .”  She shrugged.

Eren rolled onto his back, pushing his fingers through his hair.  “Yeah, we’ll go find her,” he reassured Hannah, although he couldn’t help but be a little concerned himself.  He had a feeling that hell hath no fury like a wrathful Ymir. . .  “Uh, where is she?”

“Dining plane,” Hannah told him simply.  “I’ll just worry about the infirmary while you deal with her, huh?”

Eren nodded, covering his face to hide the yawn that split his face.  He watched her leave the cockpit, then turned to look at Jean, who leaned against the wall, his head between his knees.

“Are you okay?” Eren asked him, touching his shoulder.

Jean picked his head up, but only just long enough for Eren to spot the livid blush on his face.  “I’m fine,” he said.

“Yeah, because people who are ‘fine’ hide their faces,” Eren said, rolling his eyes.  He slid close enough to sit beside him, but not so near that their shoulders touched.  Then, dread curled in his empty stomach.  “You don’t, uh, _regret_ anything, do you?”

Jean snorted and finally lifted his head to look properly at him.  “ _No_ , Eren, you idiot, I don’t fucking _regret_ it.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Eren wondered, completely confused.  “You seem embarrassed.”

“I’m not, it’s just, ugh, I didn’t, uh, _expect_ anyone to, you know. . .” he trailed off, sounding distressed, as his fingers carded through his bedhead.

“Find us?” Eren suggested, quirking an eyebrow.

“Y-yeah,” Jean said, shaking his head slightly, disparagingly.  “Maybe it’s stupid, but, um, like—“  He broke off, chuckling humorlessly.

“It’s not stupid at all,” Eren said, realizing what he was trying to say.  He placed his hand on Jean’s wrist, where it balanced on his knee.  “After everything. . .”  He pinched his eyes shut.

“The boy at your school?  The one you fought before you kicked AWOL?”

Eren nodded.  “And the boy from the warehouse, the one you stopped me from jumping.”

Jean’s lips twisted into a slight smile.  “I sometimes wish I’d let you jump him,” he admitted softly.  He turned his hand over, palm up, an invitation.

Eren held it, fingers twining together.  “Was there anyone like that at your school?” he inquired, voice just as soft.

Jean shrugged.  “It was just, like, careless comments,” he said.  “Teasing, joking. . .  Kids that didn’t commit to dares got called ‘fags’, kids that didn’t play any sports got called ‘fags’, kids that looked at you in a way you didn’t like got—“

“I get the idea,” Eren interrupted.  He didn’t like the way the words fell on his ears.  “It was the same at my school too.”

“Yeah, but I’m not like you,” Jean said, disheartened.  “I never hit anyone for it, I didn’t even fucking call them out.”

Eren turned slightly and flicked Jean’s ear.  When he flinched and scowled, batting his hand away, Eren said, “Well, Hannah didn’t care.”

“Yeah, didn’t even seem fucking _surprised_ ,” Jean muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, shit,” Eren hissed, remembering.

“What?” Jean said, turning his head to eye him questioningly.

“Annie’s gonna gloat,” he moaned, rubbing his face.

Jean laughed.  “To be honest, I’m more worried about Ymir skinning us alive if we keep her waiting anymore.”

“That’s a really good point.”  Eren got to his feet, pulling Jean up with him.  He pecked him on the cheek, feeling the way his face warmed against his lips, then nodded towards the cabin of the plane.

Inside the infirmary proper, Hannah stood in front of a tall brown-haired boy, waving her hands while he held out his arm for her inspection.

“. . . _keep it clean_!” she was saying emphatically, face expressing irritation.

“Uh, I just—“

“ _Clean_!”

Eren walked through quickly, Jean right behind him, and once they stood outside, feet on the sandy runway, Eren doubled over with laughter.  When Jean raised a questioning eyebrow at him, once he straightened and caught his breath, he explained, “I’ve never seen her that angry.  If she was any more pissed, she might’ve even started _cussing_.  Holy _shit_.”  He guffawed some more, as Jean rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, _‘I can’t believe I like this idiot.’_

Jean grabbed Eren’s arm, a gesture as familiar to him as the ground was to his feet, and pulled him along down the runway towards the dining plane.

The damage from the riot looked minimal, already swept away by desert winds in the hours since, but here and there, Eren spotted glints of metal, of forks and knives submerged in the sand.  But when his eyes drifted higher, he saw an unfamiliar shape casting a shadow across the runway in the morning sun.

“Is that a helicopter?”

“Looks like it,” Jean said, narrowing his eyes at the unfamiliar vehicle.

“It hasn’t. . .always been there, has it?” Eren said.  For some reason, a dark sense of foreboding crawled just under his skin, feeling something distinctly _wrong_ about the presence of the _Other_ of air transportation.

“Of course not,” Jean scoffed, leaving the ‘dumbass’ unspoken.  He slipped his hand down along Eren’s arm, so that their palms brushed, briefly, reassuringly.  And when Eren glanced at his face, he couldn’t help but notice the worried furrow on his forehead.

They found Ymir standing in the doorway of the dining plane, shouting something at Sasha, but she turned around at the sound of approaching footsteps.  Her lips immediately twisted into a scowl, eyes sparking furiously.

“So after that riot yesterday, I took attendance,” she explained, crossing her arms once they stood a couple steps under her.

Eren then wished she didn’t have the added height; she was already taller than him. . .

“Guess who didn’t say anything,” Ymir continued irritably.  “Guess who could’ve easily been fucking _dead_ , stabbed in the gut with a fucking _kitchen knife_ for all I know!”

“Didn’t know you felt that way,” Jean muttered, tone borderline sarcastic.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Jean!” she shouted at him.  “This isn’t _funny_.  _Three_ Unwinds disappeared last week, everyone’s hungry, and this fucking _riot_ is the icing on the cake!  Goddamn, I can’t believe you!  Where the fuck _were_ you?”  She stared between the two of them.  “And you both look like shit!”  Her gaze flitted from Eren, at his hair sticking up in all directions, his wrinkled shirt, tired eyes, and Jean, whose state was much the same but with the added bonus of a purple nose, pink cheeks, and a few drops of dried blood on his shirt.  “Never mind,” she said, grimacing, “I don’t want to know.”

Eren rubbed his arm, somewhat ashamed under her scrutiny.  Ymir seemed so carefree most of the time; it was shocking to consider she felt this strongly about anyone’s safety.

(Well, anyone that wasn’t Historia, if the rumors were to be believed.)

“Just. . .go sleep or something,” Ymir finally said, sounding drained as she waved her hand dismissively.  “Maybe you’ll look less like shit and more like actual human beings then.”  She turned on her heel and stalked into the dining plane, slamming the door behind her.

Eren could hear her complaining about them to Sasha and Hitch.  Beside him, Jean stiffened and said, “I work in the kitchen; I feel like I’ve just been fired.”

“You’re a rich tithe,” Eren pointed out, rolling his eyes.  “Like you’ve ever had an actual _job_.”

Jean scowled and shoved him so that he almost tripped down the stairs, landing shakily but on his feet back on level, dusty ground.  He shot a glare over his shoulder, just in time to see Jean joining him, a question in his eyes.

“You’ll still come with me to talk to the Commander, right?”

“Y-yeah,” Eren said, feeling his own eyes widen in surprise.  “Why wouldn’t I?”

Jean shrugged.  “Let’s go then.”

* * *

The Commander was not alone.  In fact, a very familiar, and very tall, man stood just behind him when he opened the door to greet his unexpected guests.

Eren’s jaw dropped at the same time as Jean gasped, “Mike?”

The ends of Mike’s lips curved downwards into a frown, and Eren imagined that his eyebrow was raised under his forehead-concealing bangs.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” the Commander asked politely, jerking Eren’s attention back to whom they were actually visiting.

“Y-yes,” Jean said quickly, shooting one last confused look at Mike before fixing his eyes on the Commander.  “I, uh, I have a theory about the, um, disappeared Unwinds.”

The Commander appraised him, and Eren was worried he was about to turn them away when he stepped back and said, “Come in.”

They gathered around the same table as last time, although Eren didn’t try to sit as far from Jean as possible.  The Commander fixed Jean with a piercing, attentive expression, silently bidding him to explain.

Jean did, about putting everything together (although he admitted he’d never seen anything for himself), about no new Unwinds in too long, about the food shortage, about the three missing Unwinds and their ill-fated supply run and the increased presence of Juvie cops, until—

“I know all of this,” the Commander interrupted Jean’s tirade.

“What?” Jean said, struck dumb and gaping at him.

The Commander smiled wryly, tapping his fingers against the desk’s surface.  “I appreciate you telling me your theories – which are correct – but you don’t need to concern yourself over them.  The Scouts and I are trying to find a solution.”

“Well, try harder,” Jean insisted.  “A fucking _riot_ broke out yesterday because we’re all hungry.”

Eren shot him a glare at his harsh tone, but Jean ignored him, even as the Commander continued, “We’re working on it, I promise, but until we fix this, you need to go on as usual.  Do _not_ take matters into your own hands.”  He leveled his steady gaze at Eren, who stiffened.

“O-of course not,” Jean said hurriedly, shooting a look at Eren.

Eren locked his jaw and nodded.

“B-but what if the Juvie cops invade?” Jean demanded.

The Commander and Mike exchanged glances, then Mike shrugged, angling his head towards the Unwinds.  Then the former admitted, “We have an escape plan, should it come to that.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jean said, skeptical.

“Yes, do you remember the airplane you arrived in?”  When Eren and Jean nodded, he continued, “It’s in good enough condition, and big enough, to transport everyone here elsewhere.”

“But who’ll fly it?” Eren wondered, frowning.

“Yeah, it couldn’t be you,” Jean said, staring at the Commander.  “You only have one—“

“I’m a pilot,” Mike interrupted quickly, right as Eren elbowed Jean in the ribs.

“O-oh,” Jean stuttered, blushing and rubbing his side.

The Commander then dismissed them, with one more word of warning, and Eren and Jean walked back towards the dormitory in contemplative silence, Eren stewing in his weariness.  His sleeping bag had sounded so inviting since Ymir yelled at them. . .

“Something is still off,” Jean decided, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Why do you say that?” Eren inquired, glancing over at him.

Jean halted and touched his shoulder, getting him to do the same.  “Well, why is Mike visiting _now_?  It’s been months since we got here, and we’ve never seen him before, right?”

“Yeah?”

“They’re worried,” Jean pronounced, fingers running through his hair.  “The pilot is here in case things get ugly enough to leave, and what if the Juvies _do_ raid?  How long is it gonna take to load all us Unwinds into the plane?  How many will they catch before that?”

“Well, how many Juvies will be raiding?” Eren prompted, shrugging.  “That probably makes a difference.”

Jean gaped at him.  “Eren, you’re right,” he said.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Eren muttered, scowling and crossing his arms.

“No, no, wait.”  Jean grabbed his shoulders, pinching them in his hands and almost distracting Eren from the conversation they were supposed to be having.  “That’s. . .do you think they have _numbers_?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“Eren, let’s. . .let’s do something about this,” Jean suggested, his eyes wide as if he was shocked at the words spilling out of his mouth.

Eren understood the feeling as his jaw fell slack again (he’d suffered enough shock in the last twenty-four hours).  “Like what?”

“Let’s go to town,” Jean said, staring at him challengingly, as if daring him to disagree.  “Let’s count and, uh, maybe we can steal some tranq guns.  Put _us_ on more even ground.”

Eren found himself nodding along.  “Y-yeah, let’s do that,” he agreed.  He couldn’t help but grin; he _wanted_ to be useful for the Scouts, for Unwinds, even if it meant disobeying a direct order from the Commander.

“So w-we’re taking things into our own hands?” Jean clarified, eyes brightening.

Eren nodded.  “We are.”

“Holy shit it feels good to just _say_ we’re doing something,” Jean proclaimed.  He bridged the gap between them, wrapping his arms around Eren’s waist, hands settling on his back.

Eren shivered against him, burying his face in his shoulder.  “Let’s go tomorrow,” he said.  “I’m kinda tired now.”

Jean chuckled, and Eren felt his mirth vibrate through his own body, from his chest down to his knees.

“Go where?” a new voice piped in.

Eren jumped away and out of Jean’s reach, spinning around in the direction of the speaker.  He spotted Annie, standing with her arms crossed and face angled downwards ever so slightly, although her eyes were fixed on his face.

“Um. . .”  He glanced over at Jean, who frowned, shrugging.  When Annie quirked an eyebrow at him, he finally said, “We’re going to town.”

She finally looked up at Eren, her blank expression holding a hint of interest.  “Oh?”

“Y-yeah, except. . .”  Eren coughed, realizing an oversight.  “How the fuck are we gonna get there?”

Jean grumbled, “Fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.  Uh. . .”

“The Commander keeps a few Jeeps,” Annie told them.

“Wait, what?” Jean said, staring at her.

She nodded.  “There’s a small garage by the food storage; I can’t believe you’ve never noticed it before.”

“I, uh, I have,” Jean said, sounding sheepish as he shifted his feet anxiously.  “I just never paid it any attention.”

“And you call _me_ an idiot,” Eren muttered, smirking at him.

“Shut up,” Jean retorted.  “So how do we get one?”  He looked at Annie, at the calculating look on her face.

“I’m a mechanic,” Annie admitted breezily.  “I have access, but the keys, well, I can hotwire one.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Jean said cheerfully.

“Yeah, if I didn’t think this asshole would get jealous, I’d kiss you,” Eren agreed.

“Hey!”

A slight smile curled Annie’s lips.  “Wait till I actually deliver on my promise,” she said.  “ _Then_ we’ll negotiate.”

* * *

Eren and Jean had skipped breakfast, so they lost no time in devouring their meals when it was time for dinner.  Annie watched them while she ate her own food sedately, making the occasional remark about ‘getting more rice on their clothes than in their stomachs’.

Once he was finished, Eren asked her, “Where were you during the riot?”

“The garage,” she said, “same as always.”  She shrugged.

“I’m glad you stayed away then,” he told her.

“Yeah, me too, although from the looks of things, something might’ve come out of it?”  She glanced between Eren and Jean, her gaze lingering on the latter’s reddening face.  She proclaimed, “I knew it.”

Eren gaped at her.  “N-no, what?”

Beside him, he could sense Jean sinking down in his seat.  “I changed my mind,” he muttered darkly.  “She can’t come.”

Annie smirked slightly, then said, “So I’m coming with you.”

“I mean, if you really want to. . .”

“I do.”

“Why though?” Eren wondered, fidgeting in his seat under her scrutiny.

“It’s boring here,” she replied simply.

“Hey, Jean, do you think we’ll find the missing Unwinds?  Mina and Marco and the other guy?”

He watched as Jean grimaced, eyes cast downwards unhappily.  Then, he shook his head.  “They’re probably long gone, Eren,” he said somberly.

Eren’s stomach clenched in disappointment.  He should’ve expected as much, but hearing it out loud made it real, made it impossible that they’d still be intact, let alone AWOL.  Even so. . .

“It’s possible,” he muttered.

“Don’t fool yourself, Eren,” Jean retorted darkly.  “And we need to think of a plan now. . .”

They fell into a thoughtful silence, and Eren felt that he could almost _hear_ the neurons in Jean’s and Annie’s heads buzzing.

“What if they have a headquarters there?” Eren wondered, thinking out loud.  When he sensed both of them staring at him, he continued, “We should, I don’t know, do something about it.”

“What do you _think_ we’re trying to do?” Jean said impatiently.

“No, we, um, _destroy_ their headquarters,” Eren suggested, glancing between his companions.

Jean gaped at him.  “We’re not clappers,” he pointed out.  “We can’t just blow them up, thank fuck.”

“There are other ways,” Annie commented.

“Oh?”

She nodded, smirking ever so slightly.  “Lucky for you, I can easily steal some flammables and matches.”

“Annie, you’re amazing,” Eren said emphatically while Jean nodded his agreement.

A pink tint appeared on her cheeks.  “Oh, well, I just want to live, like you.”

* * *

They agreed to meet at the garage an hour after breakfast, when the runway would be relatively clear of Unwinds.  But morning, it seemed, was a long time coming, and although Eren’s bones ached with exhaustion, he couldn’t sleep through the night, could barely fall into anything deeper than a doze.

Jean, by comparison, appeared to fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, never mind the awkward position his arm was twisted into to better hold tight to Eren’s hand, at least until a soft, raspy voice cut through the snores filling the cabin.

“Eren?”

“What?” Eren said, just as quietly, his eyes fixed on the back of Jean’s head.

“I, uh, what if it doesn’t work?” Jean wondered.

Eren squeezed his hand, trying to reassure him.  “It will,” he promised.

“But—“

“Jean, it _will_ ,” Eren insisted, digging his fingernails into Jean’s skin.

“Ow, hey,” Jean hissed, tugging his hand from Eren’s grip.  He turned around to face him, scowling.  “Don’t be an ass about it.”  He pointedly rubbed the back of one hand with the other.

“I’ll stop being an ass when you stop being a pessimist,” Eren grumbled, reaching across the narrow gap between them and poking his cheek.

Jean smiled wryly, closing his eyes, and Eren thought he’d fallen asleep in the middle of their conversation until he whispered, “That’s never gonna happen.”

Eren rolled his eyes.  “Why not?” he asked.  “It’s not so bad, being optimistic; you should try it sometime.”

Jean snorted and opened his eyes.  “Hmm, I think it’s too late for me, but you’re optimistic enough for both of us.”

“Come on, Jean,” Eren said.  He placed his hand against the back of Jean’s head, burying his fingers in his soft hair, and pulled him closer.  “We’ve survived this far, right?”

“But we’ve never done anything this fucking _bold_ ,” Jean pointed out, frowning.  He let out a shuddering gasp, fear written all over his face.

“This was _your_ idea,” Eren muttered.  He leaned his forehead against his, trying to offer wordless comfort; he was getting better at it, he supposed.

Jean’s eyes flicked up to meet Eren’s, and he smiled, ever so slightly, sharing uneven, nervous breaths.  “Y-yeah,” he said, shakily.

“Aw, little Jean is all grown up,” Eren teased, grinning at the pink hue he could barely see on the other’s face.

“Sh-shut up, Jaeger,” Jean mumbled.

“Hmm, not as long as I’m alive, Kirstein.”

* * *

Eren felt Ymir’s angry glare on him throughout breakfast and even as he left the dining plane.  He waved to Historia, who stood just outside, and he was almost tempted to ask her what Ymir’s problem was, till he remembered the incident from the day before.

He swallowed his sudden guilt and walked down the runway to the infirmary, opening it up for the day.  Hannah joined him within minutes, taking stock of whatever precious supplies still remained.

Maybe they were in town they could pick some more up, except they wouldn’t have money, and the only ones that could give them purchasing power would also refuse to give permission.

One goal at a time, Eren decided.

An hour later, he excused himself from the infirmary, feeding Hannah a flimsy lie about using the bathroom.  Luckily, she simply shrugged as he departed.  And once he stood outside, he darted his eyes around the runway, relieved to see it was clear.

Eren meandered towards the garage as nonchalantly as he could manage, just in time to see it open, with Annie leaning against a white Jeep while a few other Unwinds tinkered with airplane parts further in.

She flicked her gaze up to meet his, then nodded towards the back seat.  He got the hint and peered inside, spotting a can of kerosene and a book of matches.

“So we’re doing this?” Annie said.

He turned around to face her.  “Yeah, as soon as Jean gets here.”

“Well, here I am.”

Eren spun around to see Jean approaching, hands stuffed deep into his pockets and a plastic bag swinging from his arm.  Eren offered him a smile, which he returned a beat too late.

“What’s in the bag?” he asked.  From his periphery he could see Annie already bending over in the Jeep’s driver’s seat, working on hotwiring it.

“I, uh, grabbed some food in case it takes a while,” Jean replied.

“Good idea,” Eren told him, blinking.  There was still something distinctly _off_ about him though, and his mind wandered back to their conversation from the previous night.  “You’re scared,” he realized.

Jean’s eyes widened.  “O-obviously,” he admitted.

Eren quickly embraced him, sliding his arms under Jean’s and wrapping them firmly around his waist.  “We’ll be fine, and we’ll survive,” he muttered into his ear.  “Promise.”

“If you break that promise, I’m going to fucking kill you,” Jean threatened softly but heatedly, but he returned the hug, fingers loosely clutching the back of Eren’s shirt.

Eren opened his mouth to retort, but he had to settle for rolling his eyes when the rumble of an engine burst into their shared bubble.

“Okay, lovebirds,” Annie said, grabbing Eren’s arm and physically tearing them apart.  “We shouldn’t leave the engine idling.”  She then climbed into the Jeep, looking over her shoulder to make sure they were following.

Eren exchanged one last glance with Jean and said, “I get shotgun.”

Jean bit his lip, as if fighting a grin, but rolled his eyes as they clambered in after Annie, Eren taking the seat beside her and Jean just behind him.

“It’s not gonna be possible to sneak out, is it?” Jean asked their driver.

Annie simply snorted in response.  She handed Eren a map, asking him to help navigate their way away from the Graveyard and to the highway.

They stayed away from the runway, away from where most people would be wandering around in the middle of the day, and luckily only drew a few curious, confused glances from the other mechanics as they left the garage.

Within moments, the airplanes of the Graveyard were lost in the dust billowing behind them, the sand being tossed up by the wheels all but blinding.  Eren covered his face as dirt bit into his skin and made his eyes water; he could also hear Jean coughing behind him, and Annie sniffling.  He cracked his eyelids just a bit in time to see that she was wearing a pair of goggles.

“Why didn’t you share?” he whined, choking on the sand that flew down his throat when he opened his mouth.

She smirked at him, jerking the steering wheel as they climbed over a particularly steep sand dune.  “Driver’s advantage,” she told him.

Eren felt the motion of the inclines and declines in his gut, the way his stomach seemed to rise and fall with the Jeep.  It was almost like a roller coaster, or even bobbing on the ocean’s waves.  Jean cursed continuously, and Eren turned his head and inquired, “Carsick?”

His only response as he kept his head down was a middle finger.

Eventually the sand leveled out into compact dirt and scrubby vegetation, and Eren could finally breathe without getting a lungful of dust.  He glanced at the map in his hands and told Annie, “The highway should be dead ahead.”

“Don’t say ‘dead’,” Jean muttered, grabbing his shoulder.

Annie retorted, “Don’t be a baby.”

Eren half-turned in his seat again to look at him, at his red, sand-irritated eyes and almost perpetual scowl.  He picked his hand from his shoulder, holding onto it, and said, “Hey.”

“What?”

“Remember when you said you didn’t want to risk your life for the Scouts?” Eren wondered, tilting his head to the side.

Jean narrowed his eyes at him.  “Yeah. . .”

“Guess what you’re doing now.”

Jean dug his fingernails into Eren’s hand, blushing slightly.  “You promised we wouldn’t die or be Unwound,” he insisted.

“And I’m keeping my promise.”

“So then I’m not actually _risking_ my life, right?” Jean pointed out, frowning.

Eren rolled his eyes but said, “I guess you’re right.”  Then, after a bit of afterthought, he added, “And to me, Unwinding is even worse than dying.”

Jean chuckled.  “Yeah, you _did_ say you’d rather die than be Unwound.”

Eren grinned.  “I’m surprised you remember that.”

“Like I can forget anything said by the dumbass that carjacked me and saved my life.”

* * *

Stohess, Arizona was a tiny town that somehow managed to survive in the middle of the desert.  Eren wasn’t sure if he imagined the vultures circling overhead, as if waiting for the entire population to drop dead, or if they were just random shadows fluctuating with the afternoon sun.

They saw their first Juvie cop just outside of Stohess, holding a radio in one hand while he examined the screen of a mobile phone with dull, glassy eyes.

“Must be a boring life,” Annie commented as they passed him.

“Must be so fucking boring,” Jean grumbled ironically, “to arrest teenagers on their parents’ whim.”  His voice sounded lower than usual as he ducked out of sight.

“It’s a boring-looking town,” Annie clarified, sliding her goggles down so that they lay around her neck.

“So how do we find where all the Juvies hang out?” Eren asked, looking back and forth between Annie and Jean.

Annie shrugged, glancing in the rearview mirror, while Jean said, “Is there a downtown or something?”

“Uh, how the fuck should we know?” Eren said.  “We’ve never been here before either.”

“It’s a tiny town,” Annie remarked.  “It won’t take long to find a center.”

She was right; within moments they were stopped at an intersection close to the Stohess town center, with a post office, courthouse, high school. . .  Juvie cops headquarters.

“Park at the post office,” Jean suggested to Annie.  “It’s right across the street.”

Annie flicked down the blinker and turned left into a small parking lot.  “So we might have to steal a car for the way back,” she confessed.

“What?  Why?” Jean demanded.

She tapped the fuel gauge in the Jeep’s dash.  “The tank was full when we left the Graveyard; now there’s only a quarter.”

Eren sighed through his nose while Jean scowled and said, “I guess we’ll worry about that after we do what we came for.”

They climbed out of the car, the engine still running, and assembled their supplies.

“So how are we doing this?” Eren asked, looking at Jean.

He frowned, gaze thoughtful.  “Well, I’m a tithe, so maybe I can go in pretending to turn myself in,” he explained, gripping onto the can of kerosene.  “I’ll take this too and drain it as I go.”  He pointed at Eren.  “You drop the match, and Annie, stay with the car.”

Annie nodded while Eren grabbed the book of matches.  He opened it, hesitantly.  “Uh, I’ve never used matches before,” he admitted.

“No time like the present,” Jean told him, flashing a slight, shaky smile.  “But let’s wait till that school lets out.”

* * *

Eren ducked between cars and fleeing high school students alike as he made his way towards the Juvie cops’ headquarters.  He could see Jean’s head bobbing a few yards in front of him, the way he walked confidently even though Eren knew he was scared, knew he was afraid their flimsy plan might not even work.

Eren’s own hands trembled with the same fear, almost dropping the matches he gripped several times, and he wished he’d kissed Jean to reassure both of them before they split up.

This wouldn’t take long, he told himself.  Jean would slip inside and drain the kerosene and Eren would drop a few lit matches.  Once the fire was detected, Jean would sneak out and they’d return to Annie amidst the chaos.

But there was something about small towns.

A firm hand gripped Eren’s shoulder, halting him in his steps.  “You new here?” a deep voice demanded.

Eren turned slowly, keeping the book of matches behind him, to face a man at least six inches taller than him and almost twice as broad, wearing a Juvie cop uniform and holding a tranq gun.

“Y-yeah,” he told him quickly.

“So just transferred to Stohess High School?” the cop inquired, raising a thick brown eyebrow.

Eren nodded frantically.  _Oh shit oh shit oh shit._

“How do you like?” the cop asked, his lips twisting into a genial smile.

_Fuck everything._   “It’s, you know, h-high school,” Eren said, forcing himself to grin.

“Oh, because my daughter just turned fourteen and she’ll be going there soon,” the cop said, his smile taking on a hint of pride.

_Fuck, even_ these guys _can have kids?_   “G-great,” Eren stuttered, palms sweating.  “Sh-she’ll have fun, uh, probably.”

The cop seemed to sense Eren’s distress, for he narrowed his eyes at him and wondered, “You all right, kid?”

“F-fine,” Eren muttered.  He tightened his grip on the matches and wrenched his arm away from the cop.  “I, uh, my s-sister is waiting for me, so. . .”

“Oh, of course,” the cop said, tilting his head as Eren backed away from him.

_Holy shit._ It was close, too close for comfort, and Eren was still trembling as he emerged from the post-dismissal crowd, at the brink of the Juvie cops’ office.

Jean had already disappeared inside, so Eren approached, searching for the trail of kerosene.  He opened the box and pulled out a matchstick, striking it against the side of the box and immediately producing a flame.  He spotted a wet spot on the concrete and dropped the lit match before the fire could lick at his fingertips and dashed off before anyone could catch him, ducking into the bushes along the walkway.

The flame caught, rapidly transforming from a pinprick of light to a puddle of fire as it spread along the fuel trail.  And Eren couldn’t help but think of all the ways this plan could still go wrong. . .

They could get caught.

Just Jean could get caught.

Jean could be trapped inside.

Annie could get caught simply loitering.

They could get caught when Annie attempted to steal a car.

_They could get fucking caught._

Eren bit his lip, forcing his thoughts into less negative territory right as the acrid tang of smoke reached his nose.  He could already see flames licking at the windows and billows of smoke climbing higher and higher.

He clenched his hands into fists, waiting for Jean to emerge. . .

Eren jumped when another hand closed around his fist and turned his head to see Jean grinning at him.  “There’s a back door,” he said by explanation.

Eren scowled and punched his shoulder.  “You fucking scared me, asshole,” he accused.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jean said, although he didn’t sound particularly apologetic as he tugged Eren away from the bushes and back through the throng of high school students and parents.

Sirens sounded from the street, approaching the burning building, and Juvie cops joined the mix of teenagers on the sidewalk.

“I counted _fifteen_ fucking cars and _ten_ fucking trucks,” Jean told Eren as they ran along.  “And there’re probably more around town.  There’s a fuck-ton of Juvies here, like I thought.”

“But now their building is burning,” Eren pointed out.  He spied the post office across the road and pulled Jean in that direction, towards the Jeep in the parking lot.

“Yeah!” Jean said, excited.  Then, voice considerably _less_ excited, he wondered, “Where the fuck is Annie?”

They stood at the edge of the lot, looking around at the small assortment of cars present, only to see that not a single human being was around.  Everyone was in the chaos behind them, and Annie was nowhere to be found.

“Shit, you don’t think she’s looking for a car that’ll get us back through the desert?” Jean speculated, glancing worriedly at Eren.

He chewed his lip and shrugged in response.  “Maybe,” he said, hoping.  He squeezed Jean’s hand, as if that would help, and spun his head around in all directions, eyes peeled for a short blonde girl.

“Unwinds _and_ fags?” an unpleasant voice said from behind them.

Eren flinched and spun around to see two Juvie cops pointing tranq guns at them.  “Fuck,” he hissed.

Jean, beside him, scowled and muttered, “Don’t tell them about—“

“Your little blonde friend?” the first speaker said, twitching his gun.  “We already found her, sneaking around the parking lot looking for a car to steal.”

Dread curled in Eren’s gut.  Even if they managed to disarm these cops and flee them, they were stranded, unless they wanted to wander through the desert.  They were so fucked.

But Eren didn’t care; he was going nowhere without a fight.

He sprinted forward, arms out, and tackled one of the cops.  He went down immediately, shocked, as if no AWOL he’d ever arrested had struggled against him.  Eren grappled for his tranq gun, but hesitated when he heard Jean yell:

“ _Eren, watch out!_ ”

He turned to see the second cop pointing his own tranq gun at him, and Eren barely had time to blink before he felt a sharp prick in his arm.

It numbed immediately, and he could feel his eyes drooping and posture relaxing.  He could barely hear, as if his ears were plugged, couldn’t hear the soft click of the tranq gun loosing another dart, didn’t hear Jean fall as his own muscles crumpled and his own eyelids slipped shut.

He was unconscious before his head hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently debating between having one or two more chapters; it really all depends on how the rest of the story arranges itself length/plot-wise (I'm already really inconsistent though so what's a bit more...).
> 
> I wouldn't mind seeing suggestions though.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fight (or Eren does), they argue, they sulk, they kiss...
> 
> Also they find themselves at a harvest camp. Things aren't looking good.
> 
> (And that's an understatement.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One panic attack there at the beginning + a semi-gruesome/barely detailed scene towards the end

Eren’s head rattled as he returned to consciousness, the numbness in his muscles fading into an unpleasant memory.  He opened his eyes, only to pinch them shut when he saw nothing.

He felt warm bodies on all sides, the sound of even breathing filling the space.  He shifted in his spot, alert to the motion of. . .something.  He clenched his hands into fists as his own breathing sped up.

The dry, musty air crushed his lungs, constricted his heart, squeezed his head.  The wall his back pressed against started to collapse, the shaky ground beneath him caving down, the bodies on either side crowding him, getting in his face, making it harder to breathe. . .

Eren couldn’t breathe, even as he opened his mouth to suck in air.  _Fuck fuck fuck._

He clutched his hair, sticking his head between his knees, mind blank as he struggled to pull oxygen into his body.  His brain fogged, and he knew with astonishing clarity that he was about to pass out again.

“Eren,” a voice hissed into his ear.  “Y-you’re fine.”  A hand found his, gripping tightly, and the voice insisted, “We’re just in a, uh, truck, I think.  It’s, um, you’re fine, Eren, I promise.”

Eren’s head cleared, and he managed a lungful of stagnant air.  He opened his mouth to speak, but coughed instead, his breathing cut off.

A hand rubbed his back soothingly.  “I’m here, Eren, okay?  Y-you’ll be fine.”

Eren groaned, rubbing at his face and eyes.  “J-Jean?” he managed to croak, turning his head towards the voice.

“Y-yeah, it’s me, dumbass,” he replied, tone relieved.

Eren resolved to keep his eyes shut for however long they were in the truck, to better control the space and darkness engulfing him.  He squeezed Jean’s hand, still wrapped around his own, as memories from Stohess resurfaced.

“How long have we been out?” he wondered.

“I don’t know,” Jean said quietly.  “I woke up about ten minutes before you did.”

“Where’s Annie?”

Jean sighed and admitted, “I don’t know that either.”

Fear crept up Eren’s spine, fear for Annie. . .  and fear for himself and Jean.  “We’re being taken to a harvest camp, aren’t we?”

“I don’t. . .”

“Don’t spare my feelings, asshole,” Eren hissed.

“Most likely,” Jean said hesitantly.

Eren could remember the last time they were trapped inside a truck, when they moved from Levi’s bookstore to the warehouse, from one safe place to another.  But this. . .  This was different.  A sense of impending doom hung over their heads in the stale air, and he flattened his free palm against the dusty floor of the truck, as if he could hold onto safety that way.

He turned his face towards Jean and muttered, “We’ll get out of this.”  They would; something would happen; they’d figure out a way to escape; their luck couldn’t run out like this. . .

Jean snorted but didn’t argue.

* * *

It took three Juvie cops to wrestle Eren from the truck, and he knocked the first one unconscious with one of his flailing legs.  Eventually, they pressed a tranq gun to his arm and pulled the trigger without hesitation, and the last thing Eren heard as he drifted back into blackness was Jean shouting his name.

When he came to what felt like seconds later, he was lying on an operating table, and he started to panic, jerking up into a sitting position before a cool hand was against his shoulder, pressing him back down.

“Relax, it’s just a preliminary check-up,” a soft feminine voice said.

Eren, taken off guard by the soothing quality of the voice, slumped, but he remained sitting up as a short woman in pink scrubs, with round glasses and silver hair, eyed him up and down.

“What’s your name?” she asked him, tone clinical.

Eren glared at her.

She sighed, tapping a pen against her clipboard.  “I’ll ask you one more time before I make a disciplinary note in your file,” she threatened.

“And why should I care if I get a ‘disciplinary note’?” Eren demanded.

The woman raised an eyebrow at him.  “You will be pushed ahead on the list of Unwinds to be Unwound,” she told him simply.

Eren felt his stomach clench and was suddenly unsure what he wanted.  He knew he was in a harvest camp, the end of the line, the place where he would die, or whatever other bullshit doctors said happened when teenagers were Unwound.  What did it matter if the Unwinding came sooner rather than later?

_You shouldn’t have to accept a fate you don’t like._

Eren gritted his teeth, deciding it was better to postpone it than not, because even if, by some miracle, he managed to escape the harvest camp, at least he’d be able to see Jean again.

“So what is your name?”

“Eren Jaeger.”

* * *

They separated boys and girls at the harvest camp, presumably to prevent unnecessary shenanigans, because a pregnant girl couldn’t be Unwound.  But the notion still made Eren laugh hysterically, his gut clenching with how amusing yet unfunny everything was.

Jean looked at him like he was crazy; Eren thought that he’d probably get there soon if they didn’t hurry up and Unwind him.

They wore a scrubs-like blue uniform that made Eren feel inhuman and sterile.  He picked at the tight collar constantly, enough that by the second day at the camp, Jean took to slapping his hand away.

No one, except the tithes in their own little corner of Sina Harvest Camp, knew when their time would come, not until a counselor approached you in the middle of an activity or a meal and asked you to go with them.

“You lied about not being a tithe,” Eren said to Jean during lunch on the third day.

He nodded, picking half-heartedly at the sandwich in front of him.

“Why?”

Jean frowned.  “I don’t want special treatment,” he said with a shrug.  “And I’d rather stick with you.”

Eren stared at his meal, tapping his fingers against the table.  He could feel his face heat up, the way it always did whenever Jean casually admitted something like that.  Then he commented, “At least we get enough food here.”

“That’s probably the only good thing,” Jean scoffed.

Eren nodded in agreement and was about to open his mouth to say something when:

“Jean?  Eren?”

He jerked his head around in the direction of the new voice, his eyes widening when he spotted the speaker.

“Marco?” Jean said, shocked.

Marco gaped at them for a few seconds, holding eye contact with Jean and Eren in turn.  “Uh, what the hell happened?” he wondered.

“It’s, uh, a long story,” Jean replied, shrugging.

Then Eren caught sight of a boy standing just behind Marco, face twisted into a grotesque frown and eyes sunken in; he looked too old to be an Unwind, yet here he was. . .

Marco took the seat beside Eren while the other boy sat across from him, next to Jean, who scooted away as if subconsciously.  “Uh, this is Daz,” Marco introduced, nodding in the stranger’s direction.  “He’s been here longer than me.

“So how did you get here?” Marco pressed in a low voice, his eyes darting over to where a counselor lingered at the doorway to the cafeteria.

“Oh, you know, got caught by Juvies,” Jean told him breezily, scowling as he poked his sandwich.  “Same as anyone else that kicked AWOL.”

“Why aren’t you with—“

“The tithes?” Jean interrupted.  “Because I didn’t tell them I was one, obviously.”

“Why not?”

“Fuck, I just went over this with Eren,” Jean grumbled, rolling his eyes.  He propped his elbow on the table and chin in his palm, gaze flickering over to Eren before returning to Marco.  “So what the fuck happened to you?  Where’s that other guy and what’s-her-face?”

“Mina,” Eren supplied, glaring at him.

Jean shrugged.  “Yeah, her.”

Marco frowned, thoughtful.  “I don’t know,” he admitted.  “I haven’t seen Mina since we were caught outside Stohess; Mylius came here with me though.  He disappeared a few days ago, probably got Unwound.”

Eren sucked in a breath.  “Fuck,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Jean agreed.

“So, what about you guys though?’ Marco inquired, looking between Jean and Eren.

“What about us?” Eren said, raising an eyebrow at him and sipping from his juice box.

“Did they try another supply run?”

Eren exchanged a glance with Jean, who grimaced.  “Uh, we kind of—“

“Did something stupid,” Jean interjected.  He stared down at the table, rubbing his fingers against the surface, face stormy.

Eren could guess what he was thinking and nudged his feet under the table, linking their ankles together, attempting to convey, _‘It’s not your fault.’_ Out loud, he said, “Maybe it was useful.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jean said skeptically.

“What?” Daz interrupted, sad eyes filled with confusion.

Eren glowered at him.  “Nothing,” he lied.

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” Jean muttered, resting his forehead against the table.

* * *

The boys and girls at Sina Harvest Camp only mingled for an hour in the afternoon, during a kind of free time.  And this was when Eren jumped into his first fight.

Daz had sidled up to a short black-haired girl, chatting to her.  She smiled politely at him, but as Eren watched, her expression became more and more closed off and she began to fidget uncomfortably.

Eren clenched his fists at his sides and slowly strode forward, ignoring Jean’s muttered reproach, till he was within earshot.  He didn’t like what he heard.

“I can make sure you won’t be Unwound for another nine months,” Daz was whispering to the girl in a voice that he probably considered sultry.

Eren shuddered and didn’t catch the girl’s soft refusal for the blood rushing in his head.  He called out, “Hey, asshole!”

Daz whipped his head around, eyes widening when he spotted Eren.  “What?” he said, grimacing in that way he always did.

Eren socked him in the jaw, his knuckles smashing against the bone with a snap, and he watched as Daz reeled back, clutching his face and gaping at him.  “I bet she told you to leave her alone, shithead,” Eren said, bracing himself for another punch.

“N-no,” Daz stuttered, glaring.

Eren glanced at the girl, saw the shock on her face.  “He was bothering you, right?” he asked.

She nodded quickly.

“If he bothers you again, tell me.”

“Y-yeah, sure,” she said.

Eren grabbed Daz by the collar and dragged him away from her, away from any girls.  He could feel the eyes on them, the eyes of Unwinds and counselors alike, but he didn’t care.  He threw Daz to the ground and was about to lecture him some more when a firm hand gripped his shoulder.

He spun around to see one of the counselors watching him with raised eyebrows.  “Come with me,” he said.

Eren shrugged his hand off.  “What?  Why?” he demanded.

“You’re disturbing the peace,” the counselor replied, smiling ruefully.

“ _Me_?” Eren said incredulously.  He pointed at Daz, still cowering behind him, and said, “ _That_ piece of shit tried to make a pass at one of the girls!”

“Just come on,” the counselor said, waving slightly, his brows furrowed worriedly.

Eren inhaled through his nose, trying to calm his heartbeat, then reluctantly followed the counselor back inside, into the examination rooms he’d seen when he first arrived at the harvest camp.  He was suddenly dizzy, almost overcome by foreboding as he remembered Marco’s words:  _‘He disappeared a few days ago, probably got Unwound.’_

That was how you knew someone’s time was up:  they vanished with a counselor and never returned.

Eren struggled to control his breathing, to remain calm, his gaze flicking around the hallway as if he could spy an escape route.  But there was nothing, no windows, no exits, only sealed doors.

The counselor opened one of the doors onto a small office and gestured for Eren to sit in one of the chairs on one side of the desk.  He accepted quickly enough, seated on the edge, hoping he could bolt at a moment’s notice.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to write you up for fighting,” the counselor said, frowning as he took the seat opposite Eren.

“What’s the point?” Eren muttered.  “There’s nothing else you can do to me.”  He crossed his arms, hoping to convey his displeasure.

The counselor ignored him and asked, “What’s your name?”

Eren sighed, scowling.  _This again._   “Eren Jaeger.”

“All right, Eren Jaeger, please don’t get into any more fights.  We don’t want anyone to get hurt too badly.”

_Because you lose healthy organs,_ he thought but didn’t say.  He bit his lip, amused to think that if Jean was in his place, he would’ve spoken his mind without hesitation.

“And what about Daz?” Eren demanded.  “He was harassing a girl.”

“I will look into it,” the counselor said, tone conciliating.  “Now please rejoin everyone else.”

Eren rolled his eyes and stood, returning back down the hall, all while thinking, _Unfair, unfair, everything is fucking unfair._

* * *

Eren took care to stay away from Daz as well as to keep an eye on him, especially when he interacted with those smaller and frailer than him.

Jean noticed his shifting attention and half-heartedly quipped, “Should I be jealous?”

Eren scoffed, “Not for that asshole.”  He then glanced at Jean, at his glower.  “Are you okay?”

He shrugged but nodded his head; Eren frowned, disbelieving him, but didn’t press.  Jean would speak up in time, and he’d already been withdrawing, pulling away from Eren whenever he tried to touch him, or responding to questions with clipped, brief answers.

Even Marco must’ve recognized a change in their behavior, as he sought them out more and more often during meals and their daily, forced exercising.

“You seem quiet, Jean,” he observed once.

Jean snorted and said, “Do I?”  He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, hands stuffed into his pockets while he scowled.

Eren elbowed him.  “Stop being an ass.”

Jean just rolled his eyes.

Eren scowled at him and grabbed his arm.  “What’s your problem?” he demanded.  “You’ve been like this since I got into that fight with Daz.”

Jean’s gaze flicked up to meet his, softening for just a second before reverting.  “Oh, I don’t know,” he sneered.  “Maybe my problem is that I had to watch you get dragged away and think I’d never see you again.”  He wrenched his arm from Eren’s grip.  “Or my problem might even be that it’s _my_ fucking fault we’re here in the first place, that it’s _my_ fault we – and Annie – are getting Unwound.  Did you think of that?”  He stood up, shoving Marco away before he could stop him, and stormed off.

Eren watched him go, angry and frustrated and sad all at the same time.  He clenched his hands into fists, digging fingernails into his palms, and was about to follow till Marco interrupted his thoughts.

“He probably just needs some space.  It’s hard to get that, with everyone breathing down your neck all the time.”  He leveled a reproachful gaze at Eren.

He bit his lip, shame joining the cocktail of emotions in his blood.

“So while he cools off, what, exactly, did he mean by that?” Marco wondered, cocking his head to the side.

“Mean by what?”  Eren felt drained, indifferent, barely cared that Marco was prying.

“By it being his fault,” Marco clarified, glancing over his shoulder at the direction Jean had departed.

Eren gaped at him, contemplating a possible answer.  “It, um, it’s not really his fault,” he said, awkwardly picking at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt.  “I mean, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s the Juvies’, right?”

Marco nodded.  “Of course.”

“But Jean is a stubborn asshole,” Eren continued, shrugging, “and he came up with the plan, so he blames himself.”

“What plan?”

Eren frowned.  “After you and Mina disappeared, we snuck into Stohess to find some things out,” he explained.  “It was _technically_ Jean’s idea, but I’m the one that suggested we destroy the Juvies’ headquarters so—“

“Wait, _what_?” Marco interrupted, staring at him in astonishment.

“We, uh, torched the headquarters in Stohess,” Eren admitted with a sheepish grin.

Marco gaped at him in such a way that Eren was irresistibly reminded of Armin.  “Holy _shit_ ,” he said, awestruck.  “I’m surprised you haven’t been Unwound yet.”

Eren chuckled humorlessly.  “Yeah, me too.”

* * *

Eren’s next fight was with a tithe that was way too big to be only thirteen.  Eren called him out on his snide, elitist remarks, but when he just sneered in response, he punched him across the nose, leaving a nice, livid bruise.

The tithe retaliated surprisingly quickly for his bulk, giving Eren a black eye, but before the fight could escalate, Jean was tugging him away from the tithe while the same counselor that wrote him up for his last fight pulled his opponent out of harm’s way, but not without shooting a disappointed look in Eren’s direction.

Marco found Eren an ice pack, so they crouched in a corner of the yard, leaning against a wall while Eren pressed the ice pack to his face and Jean furiously paced in front of the other two.

“What the fuck, Eren?” he said, wringing his hands in frustration.  “Did you not listen to _anything_ I said yesterday?”

“Sure I did,” Eren retorted mutinously, wincing at the throbbing in his eye.

“Then _why the fuck_ did you get into _another_ fucking _fight_?” Jean demanded, glaring down at him.

Eren squinted at him, his injured eye slipping shut against the sun behind him.  “He thinks he’s better than us,” he said, “just because he’s a fucking _tithe_.”

“ _I’m_ a tithe, _dumbass_ ,” Jean reminded him.  He bared his teeth, growling, and Eren was almost distracted by how bright they were.

“Yeah, but—“

“Eren, Jean,” Marco interrupted with a sigh, “just shut up.  There’s no point in arguing over this.”

Both other boys leveled him with a glare, silently commanding him to stay out of it.

“The more fights you get into,” Jean continued as if they hadn’t been interrupted, “the sooner you’ll get Unwound.  How do you not fucking _get_ that?”

“I get it,” Eren shot back irritably.

“Then fucking _act_ like it.”  Jean glowered one last time at him and spun around on his heel.

Eren watched him go, his own anger dissipating.

* * *

Eren slipped away from Marco not long after, making an excuse that he needed to use the bathroom, but once he stood inside, he started knocking on all the shut stalls.

“Jean, are you in here?’ he called out, his voice echoing off the garish yellow walls.  He jumped back when a door swung open, but it was just a kid a few inches shorter than him.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Eren as he washed his hands and left, but he ignored him, instead kicking at the final bathroom stall.

“Jean?” Eren tried again.  He glanced at the mirror, scowling at his reflection, as if it was hiding his friend/boyfriend/whatever.  He then approached it carefully, tugging at the hair on the back of his head.  He _really_ needed a haircut. . .

A toilet flushed behind him, followed by a startled, “Eren?  The fuck are you doing?”

Eren spun around and spotted Jean standing a few feet behind him, gaping.  “I was looking for you,” he said, glaring.

Jean rolled his eyes.  “I figured that out all by myself, thanks,” he scoffed.  He touched the back of his head and said, “No, whatever _that_ was.”

“I, uh, it’s nothing,” Eren said quickly, flushing.

“Right,” Jean said, skeptical, “because it looked like you were checking yourself out in the mirror.”

“I was _not_ ,” Eren denied.

“Good, because even you can’t make the uniform here look good.”  Jean smirked, looking so much like himself that Eren felt his own lips tugging up into a smile.

“It’s not your fault,” Eren told him quickly.

Jean’s smirk disappeared, replaced by a frown, his brow wrinkled.  He ran his fingers through his hair and said, “I know.”

“Then why—“

“Because it still _feels_ like it’s my fault,” Jean admitted.  “It was my idea to go to fucking Stohess, and I don’t even _want_ to join the damn Scouts.  And now we’re in a harvest camp and have no fucking clue where Annie is.”  He rubbed his face and huffed out a breath.  “And if you keep up with the fucking fighting they’ll Unwind you.”

Eren bridged the gap between them, tugging Jean’s hands away from his face.  “They won’t Unwind me,” he reassured quietly, hoping he wasn’t lying.  “Or you.

Jean snorted.  “Yeah fucking right,” he said dejectedly.  “All we can do is fucking _postpone_ it.”

Eren bit his lip, thinking.  “We can always escape,” he said, feeling the smile spread over his lips.

Jean stared at him.  “What?”

“I’m sure there’s a way,” Eren continued, stepping away from him and waving his hands around.  “We can dig under the fence.”

Jean gaped at him.  “What are you on?”

Eren ignored him and added, “We can sneak out with the food deliveries.”  He stared at Jean, trying to infect him with his good mood.

Jean seemed to catch on.  “Disguise ourselves as counselors and take the week – no, our lives off.”

“Hold a doctor hostage,” Eren suggested, spinning back towards him.  His heart beat rapidly, as if they were actually planning their escape.

Jean caught his sleeve and pulled him in, his arms wrapping tightly around his waist.  “Stage a riot,” he muttered, tone almost sensual in Eren’s ear.

“I kissed you for the first time last riot,” Eren replied, shivering slightly and bracing his hands on Jean’s shoulders.

“Yeah, so imagine what we’d do after the next one,” Jean commented, smirking suggestively, although his red face ruined the intended smoothness.

Eren laughed, resting his forehead against Jean’s cheek and hiding his own undoubtedly flaming face.  Then, sobering up, he said, “Stop blaming yourself for things out of your control.”

“Only if you stop getting into fights with idiots.”

Eren hummed, pretending to think about it.  “Fine, deal.”

* * *

The dormitory was always quick to fill with snores in the evening, but Eren stayed awake long after, staring at the ceiling, until he rolled onto his side and climbed down from the top bunk.  He tiptoed down the room till he found Jean in his own bunk, frowning in his sleep.  Eren reached out and prodded him in the cheek until he groaned and cracked his eyelids. 

“Go away, Eren,” he muttered groggily, turning his back to him and facing the wall.

“But, wait, Jean. . .” Eren trailed off, nervous suddenly at what he wanted to ask.  “It’s stupid, but can I, uh, sleep with you?”

Jean turned his head, eyes glinting in the dark.  “Uh, okay.”  His tone gave nothing away, and he simply twitched aside his blanket to give him an opening.

Eren climbed into the narrow bed, sticking his feet under the blanket and tugged it over them.  He scooted closer, close enough that his chest was almost pressed to Jean’s back.

“Y-you can spoon me,” Jean whispered.  “I-if you want, I mean.”

“R-right,” Eren said, closing his eyes and the gap between them.  He loosely draped one arm over Jean’s waist and tucked the other underneath him, leaning forward so that his nose was in his hair.  He didn’t really know how to arrange his legs, so he stuck his ankle between Jean’s knees.

They’d already been at the harvest camp for a week, but this was the first time that one of them felt like making such a gesture.

“I’ll go back to my bed before they wake us up,” Eren reassured him, squeezing slightly.

“Like I give a fuck anymore,” Jean retorted.  “It’s not like it matters if anyone sees us.”

“Yeah, but some asshole could call us ‘fags’, and then I’d punch him and break my promise.”

Jean chuckled, the motion of his back reverberating through Eren’s body.  “That’s a good point,” he conceded, “but maybe I want you to stay.”

“Oh.”  Eren nuzzled into Jean’s hair as his face warmed, inhaling his weird, salty scent.  He could feel his shallow breaths evening out and slowing down.  He closed his own eyes, trying to calm his mind, and hoped he wouldn’t wake up with morning wood.

* * *

Someone shook Eren awake what felt like minutes later.  He opened his eyes, only to see the bottom of a bunk bed, rather than a ceiling, and sensed something  _warm_ beside him.

He bolted upright, remembering spooning – actually _spooning_ – Jean, and glanced to his side to see him sleeping on his stomach, one arm flung in Eren’s direction and the other draped over his face.

“Eren?”

He turned his head to spot Marco peering at him, mouth hanging open.  “What?” he said reproachfully.

“You might want to, um. . .”  Marco pointed in the direction of Eren’s own, empty bunk.  “Everyone’s waking up and a counselor will be here any minute.”

Eren sighed and rubbed his eyes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and resting his feet on the floor.  “This is stupid,” he said.

“I know,” Marco agreed, “but they don’t like, you know, _affection_.”  He rubbed the back of his neck, looking awkward and sheepish.

Eren just rolled his eyes and stood, returning to his bed and trying to look like he’d spent the entire night there.  As could’ve been expected, his gait was lopsided as he tried to keep the unfortunate problem in his pants hidden.

The counselor burst into the dormitory right as Eren slumped against the bunk’s ladder, making sure everyone was awake and calling out attendance.  He bit his lip when he noticed a couple of names weren’t spoken, that a few beds had been stripped of their sheets since the previous day.

Eren peered down the aisle and watched Jean stand up, with some truly magnificent bedhead, and nod along with something Marco said.  He scowled, a usual morning occurrence, and walked past him towards Eren.

“You left me,” he accused, eyes drooping sleepily as he aimed a punch at Eren’s shoulder.

Eren stifled a grin as Jean’s face was split by a wide yawn.  “You’re too cute to handle in the morning.”

Jean blushed.  “Sh-shut the fuck up, Eren,” he retorted, shoving past him as he headed towards the showers.

Eren resisted the urge to follow him, their earlier conversation in the bathroom echoing in his head, making him reluctant to let Jean out of his sight.  But he stayed, for the time being simply content with the hope that he’d see him at breakfast.

Eren headed off to the cafeteria with Marco and sat at their usual table after collecting their food.  He picked apathetically at his eggs, worry gnawing away at his appetite, until he spotted Jean heading towards them.

Jean set his tray on the table and sat across from Eren and beside Marco.  He kicked Eren’s shin, as if in greeting, and grinned when he retaliated.

“So you’re back to normal now?” Marco asked Jean, raising an eyebrow.

“What’re you talking about, Marco?” Jean replied, frowning.  “‘Normal’ is relative.”

For some reason he couldn’t even begin to explain, Eren found his words incredibly humorous.  He laughed, attempting to stifle his giggles behind his hand, but tears were quickly pricking at his eyes and breathing became difficult.  “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, letting his forehead fall forward and hit the table.

“I think you broke him,” he heard Marco mutter.

“Eren?”  Jean kicked him again, this time insistently.  “What the fuck is so funny?”

Eren bit his hand, trying to stop laughing, and when he finally did, he panted, catching his breath.  He was lightheaded, but in a pleasant way, and when he lifted his head to look at Jean, who peered at him with an utterly bewildered expression, he admitted, “Nothing about this is _normal_.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” Jean muttered, cracking a smile of his own.

Marco gaped, looking between the two of them like they were crazy.

* * *

They quickly made a habit of slipping off in the lull at the end of meals, during the little bit of free time they got every day, and right before lights out, ducking into the bathroom.  After double- and triple-checking that they had it to themselves, Eren would press Jean up against the wall and kiss him fiercely.

They were never able to spend too long like this, kissing and touching and _alone_ , since bladders constantly needed to be emptied and locking themselves into one of the stalls was not an option for Eren.

At night, Eren still snuck into Jean’s bunk, until Marco woke them in the morning so that Eren could return to his own before a counselor caught them.  But sleeping together had its benefits, including kissing and even conversation, so long as they weren’t louder than the snores around them.

“So you _can_ whisper?” Jean quipped one night.

Eren smacked his head irritably as Jean laughed.

They faced each other, lying on their sides, and in the faint light, Eren could see Jean’s red, kiss-swollen lips perk up into a smile as he said, “Hey, Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me something,” Jean commanded.

“Uh, like what?” Eren wondered.

“Like, about your life before,” Jean explained.  “Tell me about your friends.”

“Why?”

“Why the fuck not?” Jean retorted, snorting.  “Just tell me something I don’t know.”

Eren flinched when he felt Jean’s toes scrape against his leg, then closed his eyes, contemplating.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep now,” Jean complained, butting his forehead against Eren’s.

Eren grinned.  “I’m not,” he said.  “I’m just thinking.”

“Okay, don’t hurt yourself.”  He wrapped his arms around Eren’s waist, pulling him just a bit closer.

“Asshole,” Eren hissed into his ear.  When Jean simply chuckled, he said, “I had two best friends.”

“The ones in that picture?”

Eren blinked, surprised that Jean remembered.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Armin and Mikasa; they were like family, more than my dad anyway.”  He smiled as he thought of them, missing them, wishing he could talk to them. . .  “Mikasa always got me out of trouble if I started a fight I shouldn’t have.”

Jean scoffed, “I bet that happened a lot.”

“I’m trying to tell you _something_ , so shut the fuck up,” Eren hissed.  When he could hear nothing from Jean but the sound of his breathing, he continued, “Armin helped me in school, since, uh, nothing there really came naturally to me.”  He frowned.  “Except science; I was good at science.”

Jean snickered.  “Maybe that’s why Ymir stuck you in the infirmary,” he speculated.

“My dad’s a doctor,” he contradicted with a slight shrug, his breath hitching as he thought of the Graveyard, their shortage of supplies, the Juvies lying in wait in Stohess. . .  “How do you think they’re doing?” he asked Jean.

Jean hummed thoughtfully.  “I don’t know,” he said, brow furrowed.  “Not too good, probably.”

“You don’t know that,” Eren pointed out, scowling.

Jean poked him in the forehead.  “I don’t,” he conceded, “but if I had to guess. . .”  He sighed.

They fell silent, shifting slightly so that Jean could bury his face in Eren’s chest, a position he seemed partial to.

“Hey, Eren?” Jean said again, voice heavy with sleep.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

It was like Eren’s heart stopped, or it beat too rapidly for him to comprehend.  And the only words he could bring to his tongue were, “M-me too.”

“You’re in love with you too?  Huh, I never pegged you for a narcissist.”

It was a good thing Jean’s head was tucked under his chin, or he would surely have seen Eren’s livid, glow-in-the-dark blush as he stuttered out, “N-no, you asshole.  I, uh, I love you too.”

But it seemed as if Jean had already fallen asleep, his breath slow and even, his fingers clutching loosely at the back of Eren’s shirt.

Eren pressed his lips to Jean’s temple, sighing deeply, and muttered to himself, “We need to get out of here.”

* * *

Marco didn’t wake them up the following morning; instead, Eren opened his eyes to see a displeased counselor standing over them, along with a few curious bystanders in the background.

“Boys, what are you doing?” he asked, tone suggesting he already knew the answer.  As he scrutinized them, he placed his hands on his hips, and it might’ve been comical if Eren’s heart weren’t pounding way too rapidly for this early in the day.

“He had a nightmare,” Jean mumbled from beside him, the arm slung across his face twitching.  “He needs to hug someone if he has a nightmare.”

Eren shot a glare at him but didn’t dare contradict his words, instead waiting for the counselor to say something.  In truth, he hadn’t had a proper nightmare since they were still in the Graveyard, and he wasn’t keen to have another. . .

“If you’re having nightmares,” the counselor said primly, “you should talk to one of us.  We have a therapist at Sina Harvest Camp that would be happy to listen to you.”

Eren resisted the impulse to cringe at the words.  “It, uh, it doesn’t happen that often,” he told him quickly.

The counselor looked at him skeptically before glancing over his shoulder at Jean, who had just sat up.  “As long as you sleep in your own bed from now on, all right?”  Without waiting for an answer, he returned to the front of the dormitory amidst the whispering of the roused Unwinds.

When he called attendance, Marco’s name was glaringly absent.

* * *

“Fucking  _fuck_ ,” Jean swore at breakfast, clutching his head and slamming his forehead against the table.  The sudden noise incited a few reproachful glances in their direction, but neither he nor Eren paid them any mind.

Eren reached forward, resting a hand on Jean’s shoulder.  “Jean, it’s—“

“Don’t fucking tell me it’s fucking _okay_ ,” Jean hissed, jerking his head up and glaring at Eren.  “Marco’s been fucking _Unwound_.  Do you not _get_ that?  There’s nothing _okay_ about that.”

Eren shivered.  “I know there’s not,” he said, “but we can’t just—“

“Can’t just _what_ , Eren?” Jean interrupted, almost hysterical.  “If Marco gets Unwound, then what’s stopping them from taking either of _us_ later today, huh?”

“We can’t lose hope,” Eren lectured, crossing his arms and leveling Jean with a glower.

Jean gaped at him.  “You can’t _seriously_ be—Eren, you’re fucking _insane_.”

Eren shook his head.  “No.  Jean, remember when we talked about escaping, huh?”

“That was a fucking _game_ ,” Jean reminded him.  “You started it to cheer me up or some shit.”

“But we can still _try_ something, can’t we?” Eren insisted, grabbing Jean’s arm and staring at him.

Jean sighed, and Eren thought he was about to withdraw his arm, maybe withdraw completely like he had in their first week at the harvest camp, until he admitted, “I don’t know.  I don’t know what good it’ll do, or anything.  Was there ever any hope?”

“Yes, of fucking _course_ there was, you _dumbass_ ,” Eren hissed, digging his fingernails into Jean’s skin.  “There still _is_.”  He was so powerless though, couldn’t escape, couldn’t tell their deadlines, couldn’t even comfort the boy he loved.  He was _useless_.

Jean didn’t react, just stared at Eren with sunken eyes and a furrowed brow, utterly despairing.  Then he shook his head and said, “I don’t think there was even any hope when you tranqed that cop in Shiganshina.”

Eren gaped at him.  “Jean, you—“ he broke off with a sigh.  “I don’t know what to say,” he confessed quietly, chewing on his lip.

“There’s nothing to say,” Jean said.  “Marco’s gone, and in who fucking knows how long, we will be too.”

* * *

The next few days were filled with ups and downs on both of their parts.

Jean would occasionally break off into a stony silence while in the middle of a sentence, and Eren got into two more fights.  Neither pointed out that Eren had broken his promise along with a nose.

The nights after Marco disappeared, Eren reluctantly stayed in his own bed, but not before swapping pillows with Jean.

(“It smells like you,” Eren pointed out, holding out his own pillow.

“You’re a fucking sap,” Jean grumbled, but he relinquished the pillow.

“No more than you, asshole,” Eren retorted, grinning as he pressed the pillow to his face.)

There was also something more frenetic about their stolen kisses, as they sensed time running out, and Eren discovered that he enjoyed leaving hickeys on Jean’s neck and collar, even though they were perfectly visible.

Sometime during lunch, Jean spaced out while Eren regaled him with his and his friends’ excellent adventure to the beach almost a year ago.  At the glassy look in his hazel eyes, he frowned and waved his hand in front of his face.

“Jean?  Is there anyone in there?”

His gaze snapped back into focus, concentrating on Eren.  “Oh, fuck,” he swore, grimacing.

“What?” Eren said with a sudden sense of foreboding.

“It’s completely random,” Jean groaned.  “Completely fucking _random_ , nofucking _pattern_. . .”

“Jean, what the fuck are you talking about?” Eren, confused, pressed.

“I’m talking about how they choose who’s gonna be Unwound,” he clarified, hands carding through his hair.  “Oh, fuck.”

Eren dropped his fork.  “So it has nothing to do with _fights_?”

Jean shook his head, glowering at his tray.  “It doesn’t matter how good you are, or how bad, or even how long you’ve been here,” he explained.  “As long as they Unwind you before you turn eighteen.”

Eren tapped his fingers against the table.  “And there’s no hope of them forgetting us till then?”

Jean snorted.  “Are you fucking kidding?  No fucking way.”

“Fuck.”

* * *

Eren began to sleep with his body wrapped around his pillow (well, Jean’s pillow), wishing it was warm enough to at least fool him.  He couldn’t nod off properly, not with the fears plaguing his brain, not while he struggled to maintain his hope that somehow – in some unforeseeable way – he, Jean, and as many Unwinds as possible could escape the harvest camp before being Unwound.  But as time wore on, that seemed less and less likely.

He slipped into a fitful sleep and dreamed of familiar faces, of Mina and Marco and Annie, watching limbs being torn from their bodies while their faces twisted into silent screams of agony, saw disembodied hands reach into their chests and pull out their hearts, still attached to arteries and veins, still pumping blood.

He saw the Graveyard and its planes up in flames, the heat from the fire distorting the air into shimmering waves, AWOL Unwinds scattering to the winds while Juvie cops shot them down.

He watched his father signing the Unwind order, a regretful grimace on his lips as the pen dragged across the paper, and then he saw his own face, poking into his father’s study and frowning.

“Dad?” dream-Eren said.

His father looked up from the Unwind order, calm as he set his pen down.  “Yes, Eren?”

“I’m going to see a movie with Armin and Mikasa,” his dream self said.

“All right.  Stay out of trouble.”

Dream-Eren was gone before Grisha finished his sentence.  He sighed and once more picked up the pen, which transformed into a wicked-looking syringe.  And he was no longer signing a paper but was about to plunge the needle into skin as dark as Eren’s own—

Eren woke up, gasping, his clothes and blankets soaked with sweat.  He blinked until his eyes adjusted, only to realize it was still. . .dark?

He hadn’t even managed to sleep through the whole night.  He turned back onto his side to attempt to slip back into unconsciousness, only for a hand to clutch his shoulder.

“Huh?” he said, turning his head.  “Jean?”

Jean peered up at him, eyes alert, frowning and awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.  “Um. . .”

Eren was struck with a sudden sense of déjà vu, although their positions were reversed.  He rolled onto his other side to better look at Jean.  “You want up?”

“N-no,” Jean said, shaking his head.  “I just, uh, I had a bad feeling, and I needed to. . .”  He trailed off and inhaled deeply, leaning forward and briefly touching his lips to Eren’s.

Eren, taken by surprise, could only stare as Jean pulled away.  But before he could withdraw completely, he reached out and grabbed him by the back of his head.  “You can’t just go without an explanation after that,” he reproached, kissing him.

Jean sighed against his lips, and Eren felt his fingers snake through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp.  And though he wanted nothing more than to tug Jean up into the bed with him and kiss him until they were both breathless and could no longer remember they were Unwinds at a harvest camp, he pulled back and wondered, “What’s wrong?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Jean retorted, flicking Eren’s ear.

Eren flinched but didn’t retaliate.  “I, uh, I just had a bad dream,” he admitted quietly.

“About what?” Jean wondered.

Eren remembered words from his mother, before she died, when he cried to her about a nightmare, how she warned him that if he talked about it, tried to find meaning in it, it might come true.

At the time, his young mind hadn’t understood, but as he got older and his nightmares became more frequent, he dismissed her belief as superstition, at least until now, as he faced Jean and the images from this dream once more flashed through his mind.

“It’s, uh, it was stupid,” he said, offering a smile he didn’t really feel.

“You’re a fucking liar, Eren Jaeger,” Jean accused, scowling, but he didn’t press.

“You should go back to your bunk,” Eren told him.

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t want you to either.”

But Jean did, kissing him one last time before he plodded off to his own bed, and Eren was left to roll onto his back and gaze up at the ceiling, wishing that he was free to see the stars instead.

* * *

“Do you think it hurts?” Jean inquired once during free time.

“What, Unwinding?” Eren said, glancing at him, at his half worried, half contemplative expression.  When Jean nodded, he thought of his last nightmare, of pained shrieks and agonized faces.  He bit his lip and replied, voice strained, “How the fuck would I know?”

Jean shrugged.  “Maybe you had a theory.”

“Well, I don’t,” Eren said, rolling his eyes.  “I try not to think about Unwinding at all.”  He didn’t often succeed at that, though.

“Lucky you,” Jean scoffed, frowning.

Eren rested his forehead on Jean’s shoulder.  “Think about rainbows and flowers and ponies instead,” he muttered, grinning slightly.  “Daydream about butterflies and elephants and photosynthesis.”

“Photosynthesis?” Jean said, sounding skeptical.

“Shut up,” Eren retorted.  “It was the first thing that popped into my head.”

Jean snickered, his shoulder trembling against Eren’s face.

Eren placed his hand on Jean’s knee and, pitching his voice low and suggestively, continued, “Imagine all the things I could do to you if the counselors didn’t watch us like hawks and we had an hour without an audience.”

Jean coughed, suddenly bringing his knees up to his chin and shoving Eren away.  “That’s, uh, that would be nice and distracting,” he said, a livid blush coloring his face.  He rubbed the side of his neck, where Eren could see a fading love bite.

Eren laughed, enjoying his reaction a little too much.

Then Jean smirked, hazel eyes glinting mischievously, and he leaned towards Eren, planting a firm, noisy kiss on his cheek.

“F-fuck off, asshole,” Eren stuttered, pushing Jean away.  As soon as the latter started cackling, he hid his warm face and widening smile behind his hands.  He swallowed, clearing his throat and attempting to recover his composure, and stood up.  “Uh, bathroom?” he asked, looking down at Jean.

He nodded, grinning and pushing himself to his feet in one graceful motion that made Eren want to stick his tongue down Jean’s throat right there, but he restrained himself, leading the way inside and towards the restroom.

“. . .that Jaeger boy.”

Eren halted in his footsteps at the words, causing Jean to bump into him.  He turned his head towards the voice, ears craned for the conversation.

“Hey, why’d you—“

Eren shushed him, creeping to a door left ajar as the voices continued:

“. . .supposed to be Unwound in a month, right?” a different voice wondered.  It sounded like the woman that took Eren’s name when he first arrived at the harvest camp.

“Yeah, but they pushed it forward,” said the first, which he recognized as that of the counselor that often shot him disapproving looks.

“Shit,” Jean breathed from beside him.

“Why are they moving it?” the woman inquired.

“Officially?  His blood type is AB-negative, and his heart is a perfect match for Rod Reiss.”

Jean mouthed something, but Eren couldn’t read lips so he shrugged.  Jean rolled his eyes and muttered, “Who the fuck is Rod Reiss?”

Eren ignored him, choosing to return his attention to the conversation they eavesdropped on, the blood rushing through his ears almost too loud to hear past:

“And unofficially?” the woman prompted.

“Some of the Unwinds that were AWOL talk about him – _admire_ him; there are rumors he shot a Juvie cop outside Shiganshina.”

“Are they true?”

Eren bit his lip, leaning forward as the voices grew softer, Jean’s hand clutching his elbow the only thing keeping him from losing his balance.

“Not sure,” the male voice said sheepishly.  “But he definitely put up a fight before he was brought here, and he was in town during the Stohess office’s fire.”

“Do they think _he_ had something to do with it?”

The counselor snorted.  “Him?  Nah, he doesn’t seem bright or patient enough to mastermind something like that.”

Eren clenched his hands into fists, scowling.  _Too stupid for that, huh?  It was_ my _idea, assholes._

“Eren, _calm down_ ,” Jean hissed directly into his ear.

“So what’s the new date?”

“Tomorrow.”

Eren bolted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left! What'll happen next...
> 
> Any ideas ~~worth stealing~~?
> 
> (Also please point out typos!)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end for Eren.
> 
> Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at summaries.
> 
> Uh, there is one panic attack, again (I'm starting to think I suck at writing panic attacks but never mind that).  
> Also fair warning for mentioned sexy times? I don't even know, but tell me if the buildup to it is shit.
> 
> (This is also my longest chapter at about 11k words. Sorry.)

His hands trembled as he ran, knees shook and buckled every few steps, but his heart was too slow, his breathing too steady.  He was too _calm_ for this, as if he’d already accepted that it was the end.

And yet Eren somehow found himself in the bathroom, sitting and leaning against the cool tile wall, hugging his legs and knees up to his face.  He bit his lip hard enough that he tasted the metallic tang of blood after a few seconds.

He didn’t know how to get out of this, how to escape.  What should he do?  Steal a spoon from the cafeteria and dig an Eren-sized hole under the camp border’s fence?  Find the Unwind operation room, steal a scalpel, and hold it to a counselor’s throat till the Juvie cops patrolling the camp let him out?

He wasn’t sure how long he sulked, but at some point, Jean pushed the bathroom door open and crouched in front of him.

Eren glanced at him, seeing the uncertainty on his face, the hesitation, his mouth open but no words coming out.  For the first time, Jean was at a loss to say anything.

Eren broke the silence, “What?”

Jean frowned, his brow furrowing, then he shook his head.  “I don’t know,” he said, sighing.  He leaned against the wall beside Eren, touching his knee.

Eren rolled his eyes half-heartedly but tilted his head so that it rested on Jean’s shoulder.

“I guess it’s not as random as I thought,” Jean said, huffing.

“Yeah.”

“Surprised the Juvies didn’t tell the counselors anything though,” Jean continued thoughtfully.

Eren shrugged, uncaring.

“Told you that you shouldn’t have caused so much trouble,” he scolded.  “If you hadn’t given the Juvies so many problems—“

“Don’t you fucking start,” Eren interrupted, blood boiling with anger and overwhelmed by _everything_.  “I just – fuck. . .”  He covered his mouth with his hand, trying to choke back the sobs beginning to shake his body.

“Eren,” Jean said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.  When Eren didn’t say or do anything, just cried, he repeated, “Eren.”

“What?” he finally croaked.  He couldn’t look at Jean, didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes.

“Stop crying,” Jean said, rubbing his back.  “Stop fucking crying.”

When Eren felt lips in his hair, he inhaled shakily, trying to calm himself.  “This. . .”

“It sucks, I know,” Jean soothed, voice quiet.  He pressed another kiss to Eren’s temple, wiped the tears from under his eyes.

“Ow, quit,” Eren complained when Jean almost poked him in the eye.  He batted his hand away.

“Sorry,” Jean mumbled.

Eren scoffed, “You’re fucking ridiculous.”  When Jean snorted in response, he laid down on the squeaky clean tiles, his head in the taller boy’s lap, smiling contently when his hand slipped into his hair.

“You know,” Jean remarked thoughtfully, tone almost teasing, “it’s not too late to fuck.  Last night on Earth and all that shit.”

Eren laughed, unable to help himself.  “You have a shitty sense of humor,” he observed, and, after grinning at the indignant noise that Jean made, he added, “And I fucking _refuse_ to think this is my last night on Earth.”

“And that’s more like the Eren I fell in love with.”

* * *

They didn’t talk about Eren’s Unwinding appointment, barely entertained any notions of running off.  Maybe Eren had finally accepted that they were only fantasy anyway, but the escapist part of him buried his imminent demise in some inaccessible corner of his brain.

In the evening, right after lights’ out, Jean wasted no time in pulling Eren into bed with him, neither paying any mind to the judgmental stares thrown their way.

Perhaps any other two people about to be separated would’ve waxed existential, wondering if there was anything beyond the void of death, if there was even any basis in the ‘eternal soul’ and ‘living in pieces’ that Unwind doctors claimed existed, but between bruising, desperate kisses, they simply whispered idly.

“You remember that sketchpad you had in Levi’s cellar?” Eren asked, still breathless from their last instant of lip-locking.

“Yeah?” Jean said, brow furrowed in confusion.

“You were drawing something,” Eren recalled, prodding Jean’s elbow.

“I drew a lot of things,” Jean pointed out, eyes widening.  “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Okay, when I tried to look but you wouldn’t let me?” Eren prompted.

Jean blushed, his red face practically emanating heat.  “Uh, it, um, I drew you,” he admitted awkwardly.

Eren blinked, his own cheeks warming.  “O-oh, why?”

“I, uh, I thought you were pretty,” Jean explained sheepishly.  “I mean, I _still_ think so, and your face is so energetic and expressive and—“

Eren shut him up with a kiss, thinking he’d suffered enough embarrassment for the time being.  He clutched either side of Jean’s head while fingers twined in his hair, tugging slightly. When a tongue that wasn’t his prodded at his lips, he parted them, welcoming the additional contact with a shudder.

Hands shifted from Eren’s hair to his back, halting to pull questioningly at the hem of his shirt.  This was new. . .

Eren shifted away from Jean a little.  “O-okay,” he muttered, his fingers twitching nervously as he raised his arms.

He felt Jean’s shaky, equally nervous breath against his face as he pulled Eren’s shirt over his head, then stuttered, “Uh, m-me too?”

“I, uh, c-can I?” Eren inquired.  After he felt him nod, he grabbed the hem and tugged it up, giggling and mumbling an apology when Jean grunted in discomfort, the collar snagging on his ears.

Eren had seen Jean shirtless before, and vice versa, as it was unavoidable when you lived in close proximity with someone, but this was so different, more than he thought he was prepared for, with a faster heartbeat and quickening, shuddering breaths.

Everything, everywhere was hot, almost impossibly hot, but Eren still closed the narrow gap between them, wrapping his arms around Jean’s waist and flattening his palms against his back.

Jean shivered, as if this minimal contact was overwhelming him, and the motion reverberated through Eren’s bones.  He buried his face in the crook of Eren’s neck, moist lips puckering against his skin.

“I d-don’t really know what I’m doing,” Eren confessed, moving his hand up and down Jean’s back, feeling the muscles and the ridges of his spine against his fingertips.

“J-just keep doing that right now,” Jean told him, voice muffled.  He pressed closer, skin touching skin.  “It feels nice, a-almost soothing.”

“O-okay,” Eren said.  His head spun, and he wondered if he was beginning to feel the effects of heatstroke as sweat broke out on his forehead.

Jean shifted his head so that he faced Eren, one hand burying into his hair again and the other against his back right above the waistband of his pants.  Eren gasped, surprised that he could get even _hotter_ , especially as Jean slotted their open mouths together.

Sometime between Jean sucking on his lips and shifting so that Eren was on his back with Jean’s bulk lying on top of him, it occurred to Eren that what they were doing was _foreplay_.  He groaned at the thought and muttered against Jean’s mouth, “ _Fuck_.”

Jean paused, lifting himself up slightly and looking down at Eren with confused, half-lidded eyes.  “W-what?  D-did I—“

Eren shook his head.  “N-no, it’s just that. . .” he trailed off, grimacing.

Jean’s eyes widened as he caught on.  “O-oh,” he said.

“D-didn’t think this far ahead, did you?” Eren commented, smirking slightly.

Jean’s lips shaped an ‘O’ as his gaze travelled further down Eren’s body.  “I, um, I can sympathize,” he said.

“Hmm, I bet,” Eren said, beginning to find a bit of humor in the situation despite his apprehension.

“D-do you want me to, uh, take care of it?”

Eren was half-tempted to tease Jean for his reluctance to put a name to the predicament, but he resisted and instead said, “Y-yes please.”

“Wow, so polite,” Jean scoffed.

Eren chuckled and pulled Jean down by the arm.  “I, uh, I’m probably gonna need to bite your shoulder,” he warned.

“O-okay,” Jean agreed, frowning as if he wasn’t sure how to go about doing this.

Eren tilted his head up, kissing him softly for the first time that night.  “You’re so fucking red,” he muttered into his lips.

“S-so are you, dumbass,” Jean stuttered.  He clutched Eren’s thigh now, almost bracingly.

“Come on,” Eren goaded.  “Or should I take care of it myself?”

Jean scowled, and Eren gasped and sunk his teeth into his shoulder as a hand plunged into his pants.

* * *

“This is gross,” Eren complained, opening and closing his sticky left hand as Jean panted against him.

“Sh-shut the fuck up,” Jean muttered.  “I didn’t whine after I touched _you_.”

“No, you didn’t,” Eren conceded, smirking into Jean’s hair, “but you didn’t really _say_ anything except, ‘Eren, _please_ fuck me’.”

He felt Jean’s face heat up against his chest, but despite his obvious embarrassment, he suggested, “First chance we get?”

“Y-yeah,” Eren agreed, his whole body flushing despite the recent release.  _There will be a chance._

Jean kissed his chest, almost tenderly.  “I love you,” he said, “and it’s not just the fucking orgasm talking.”

Eren laughed, awfully happy for an Unwind.  “I love you too, you fucking bleeding heart.”

Jean socked him in the arm, with less force than he typically used, but the sentiment was still there.

* * *

Eren didn’t bother returning to his bed; since he was scheduled to be Unwound so soon anyway, he didn’t at all care what the counselor or the other boys in the dormitory would say upon waking up.  So he curled his body around Jean’s, sort of spooning, but he felt too gross with drying bodily fluids to press close.

When the overhead lights flickered on, Eren opened his eyes and groped around for his shirt, slipping it on.  To Jean, who was slowly cracking his eyelids to groggily peer up at him, he muttered, “See you at breakfast.”   He left, retrieving a change of clothes and heading for the shower, barely glancing at the counselor, the one that had pronounced his fate while he eavesdropped, as he took attendance.

Eren contemplated awkward mornings-after while he brushed his teeth, grinning at his reflection and studiously avoiding thinking about Unwinding.  He wondered what Armin and Mikasa were up to, if Mikasa had made varsity soccer (of course she had; the only reason she hadn’t last year was because freshmen weren’t allowed on the team), if Armin had taken his SAT yet (like he’d been saying before Eren kicked AWOL).

He wondered what they’d think of the people Eren met since he left Shiganshina, what they’d say about Jean, or Levi and the Commander and Annie. . .

Eren gagged on his toothbrush, spitting blue toothpaste and saliva into the sink.

_Annie, where are you?_

* * *

Eren never made it to breakfast.

Two unfamiliar counselors, a blonde man a few inches taller than him and a short woman with reddish, shoulder-length hair, assailed him as he left the bathroom.

“Eren Jaeger?” the man asked, frowning at him.

_Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck._   “Yeah?” Eren said, muscles tensed as if he could run.

“Come with us,” the woman said, smiling kindly at him.

Eren wasn’t naïve enough to trust her warm expression, even as they turned around, gesturing for him to follow.  He hesitated, poised to dart away, to crash through walls if he needed to, but his pause was enough for the man to grab his arm and tug him towards another hallway.

“Let go!” Eren protested, trying to pull himself away.

“Not until we reach our destination,” the counselor argued mildly.

“N-no,” Eren said.  He reached up with his free hand and tried to pry his fingers from his arm, managing to loosen the grip enough that he let him go.  But the small woman was there to catch him before he could flee, pointing a tranq gun directly at his chest.

“I’ve read your file, Eren,” the male counselor said, facing him.  “I know you were sedated twice in one day; I’m sure you don’t want a repeat of that.”

_I’m gonna be fucking Unwound, fuck fuck fuck._

_Jean’s gonna be so fucking pissed and I never found out what happened to Annie, fuck._

Eren glanced between the counselors, eyes wide as they appraised him, waiting for his reaction.  The hum of adrenaline filled his ears, and he almost missed the gun-toting counselor’s words:

“. . .running out of time, Eren.”

_No no no, fucking dammit._

Eren charged towards the male counselor, trying to cannonball into him with his shoulders, but he caught him, gripping his shoulders and spinning him around, surprisingly muscular arms putting him in a choke hold.

“Let’s go, Petra,” he said to the other counselor, leading the way down the hall, away from the dormitory, away from the cafeteria, away from Jean.

Eren glowered as he forced him along, clutching the arms wrapped around his neck, ready to tear himself away the moment he sensed weakness.  But he felt something pressing into his side, knew that the woman – Petra – held the tranq gun to his abdomen.

“Which one is it?” his captor asked the other.

“Room 104, Moblit,” Petra replied, pointing at a door to the right.

Eren stared at the skin almost in his face, wondering if he could angle himself in such a way to sink his teeth in.  He began to wiggle his head experimentally, until Petra opened a door, Moblit dropped him in the gurney situated inside, and they shut the door.

Moblit held Eren down as Petra strapped him to the wheeled cot, Velcro and buckles across his joints keeping him from running, even as he flailed his arm fast enough to strike Petra across the cheek.  She barely flinched and instead narrowed her eyes at him and grabbed his wrist, quickly strapping it tight.

Once they finished, Moblit leaned his bulk against the door frame and Petra stood beside him, appraising her handiwork.  They stayed like this for what felt like hours (but was probably only ten minutes), but it was long enough for Eren to grow impatient.

“Am I being Unwound or what?” he demanded.  His heart pounded in his ears, so powerfully it might soon flee before it could even be harvested.

Moblit and Petra exchanged glances, then the former said cautiously, “The Unwind doctor would like to speak with you first.”

Eren snorted, trying to lift his foot as if he could kick at the air.  “I get to fucking _meet_ the Unwind doctor?” he scoffed.  “Like this isn’t sick enough.”  He turned his head, the only part of him _not_ rigidly attached to the gurney, to glare at Moblit and Petra in turn.

“Yes,” Moblit said, a hint of impatience in his tone, “you do.  It’s a unique opportunity, and you will treat them with respect.”

“Why the fuck would I _respect_ someone that takes teenagers apart for a living?”

“Why don’t you ask _them_ that question?” Petra inquired mildly.

“Maybe I will,” Eren sneered.

A soft knock sounded from the door, and Moblit stepped aside to open it and admit someone in a lab coat and rectangular glasses, a manila folder clutched in a large yet slender hand.  Their hair was arranged in a messy ponytail, bangs falling over an androgynous face, and they grinned as they glanced around the room, eyes resting on Moblit and Petra before finally shifting to Eren.

“So this is today’s appointment, huh?” they said, opening the folder.  “Eren Jaeger?”

Eren glowered at them, wondering if now was the time to discover that looks could, in fact, kill.

The doctor laughed, as if they sensed what was on Eren’s mind, and held out their hand.  “Oh, I’m Dr. Hange Zoe,” they introduced, grin widening.

Eren stared at her hand, raising an eyebrow.  “I need a free hand to shake yours,” he pointed out snidely.

“Oh, oh, of course,” Dr. Zoe said, their smile almost sheepish.  “So sorry, I forgot.”

“You pick hands off of arms for a living,” Eren remarked irritably, “so I’m not surprised.”

Dr. Zoe blinked at him, lips turning down as if disappointed.  “Hey, I’ll have you know one of my good friends is missing an arm.”

“I’m sure they have a nice new one from an Unwind now,” Eren commented, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he realized that he might’ve absorbed Jean’s sense of humor.

“I never said he got a new arm, did I?” Dr. Zoe retorted, raising an eyebrow at him from over their glasses.

Eren stared at them.  Why did that sound familiar. . .

“All right, to the OR!” Dr. Zoe announced, eagerly pointing at the door and simultaneously sticking their manila folder under their other arm.

Moblit grimaced and moved so that he was behind Eren’s head while Petra opened the door; he steered the gurney into the hallway, heading away from his initial destination.  Petra meanwhile dashed ahead of them, leaving the group of Unwind, counselor, and doctor in her dust.

Eren breathed heavily, straining his wrists and ankles against the bonds keeping him down, his heart beating as quickly as it had in all the most stressful and strenuous moments of his life:

When he found his mother’s dead body;

When he woke up after his first wet dream about a boy;

When he saw the failing score on his history final and showed it to his father;

When he faced down Armin’s bullies;

When he read the Unwind documents hidden in his father’s desk;

All the times he encountered a Juvie cop since leaving Shiganshina;

All the nightmares, the panic attacks, the fear;

And every time he touched Jean or Jean touched him, whether it was as a kiss or a punch.

“Ready to be Unwound?” Dr. Zoe asked him teasingly, interrupting his thoughts.  When Eren scowled at them, they laughed, patting him on the shoulder as Moblit pushed the gurney along.

He looked particularly harried, grimacing as Dr. Zoe chatted about how excited they were to Unwind Eren.  Eren himself bit his lip and tried to tune the mad doctor out.

He heard a door swing open, and then blinding morning sunlight hit his face, causing him to squint.  He grunted in discomfort, and when Moblit began loosening the straps stretched out across his limbs and body, all he could do was gape.

“What the fuck is going on?” Eren demanded.  Something was obviously not going according to plan.  Why were they outside?  Were they giving him one last breath of fresh air, one final view of the cloudless sky?

“I’m afraid, Eren Jaeger,” the doctor said, a wicked glint shining from behind their glasses, “that your Unwind appointment has been cancelled.”

Eren felt as if the sky were caving in on him, the ground dropping from beneath the wheels of the gurney, his whole body trembling as he gaped at the Unwind doctor.  “I, uh, I don’t understand,” he said.

At the same time, he heard Jean’s voice in his head:  _What’s there to understand, dumbass?  You’re not fucking being Unwound._

“We’re sneaking you out of the harvest camp,” Moblit explained with a reproachful glance at the doctor.

“I, uh, what?”  All he could do was stare, gape, stutter.  This was not at all what he’d expected; a part of him was resigned to his fate, a part of him _knew_ he was at the end of the line.  And now they were telling him he was _sneaking out_?

“We’re taking you somewhere else,” Moblit offered, “and you won’t be Unwound.”

“O-oh,” Eren said dumbly.

Wheels scraped over rocks as Eren tugged his arms from their restraints and sat up, rubbing feeling into his numb wrists.  He glanced around, noting that they were behind the main building of the harvest camp, in some isolated corner of the property between the fence and a dumpster.

“All right, to business,” Dr. Zoe said, opening the file in their other hand.  “So we’ll—“

“Wait,” Eren interrupted.  “I, uh, I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Uh, what about the others?” Eren wondered, opening and closing his sweat-soaked hands.

“Others?”  Dr. Zoe stared at him, mouth turned down in a slight frown.  “What others?”

“The other Unwinds,” Eren explained.  _Mylius and Marco and—_

“Oh, Eren,” Dr. Zoe said, frown deepening, “we can’t save everyone.”

“But that’s not good enough,” Eren hissed.

“I’m only one Unwinding-certified doctor at Sina Harvest Camp,” Dr. Zoe told him, smiling ruefully, “but we – the Scouts too – do save as many as we can.”

Eren sighed, chewing on his lip as a thought – a rather selfish one – occurred to him.  “Fine, if you can’t grab everyone, can you at least grab Jean Kirstein and Annie, uh. . .” he trailed off, remembering that he didn’t know Annie’s last name.  _Some friend I am._

Dr. Zoe leafed through the folder in their hands, an eyebrow raised contemplatively.  “I’m afraid there’s no Annie at Sina Harvest Camp,” they informed him, “but there’s an Ana?”

Eren slumped and shook his head; Annie didn’t seem to be the sort for nicknames.  _I’m so fucking sorry, Annie._   Then he suggested, “You should save this girl too though.”

“Eren, I save as many as I can,” Dr. Zoe repeated, tone somewhat regretful, “and I will try my damnedest to rescue your other friend.”

_Will it even be enough for him?_   But he nodded, the question still reverberating in his head as he thought of the Unwinds that Dr. Zoe and the Scouts couldn’t – or wouldn’t – save.

“Anyway, welcome to the supply entrance!” Dr. Zoe exclaimed, gesturing towards a small gate in the chain link fence.  “Petra’s waiting for you on the other side.”

“Right,” Eren said, helping Moblit finish unbuckling him from the gurney.  He jumped down, refusing the offered assistance, and shook each of his feet in turn, wincing at the needle-sharp pain traveling up his legs as he attempted to walk.

Moblit knocked on the gate, until it started rolling up, revealing a large white SUV with a luggage carrier clipped onto the roof.  Petra sat behind the wheel, dwarfed by the colossal vehicle.

Eren followed Moblit around to the back of the car, watching as he opened the spacious trunk.  “Hide in here till Petra lets you out,” he said, scrutinizing him.  “She’ll give you a less conspicuous change of clothes at your first stop.”

Eren nodded, wiping his damp palms against his harvest camp-issue pants and tentatively climbed into the trunk, feeling the vehicle lurch with his additional weight.

“Safe travels,” Moblit said, flashing him a slight smile.  “I’ll make sure Dr. Zoe remembers your friend.”

“I, uh, thanks,” Eren said, attempting to return his own grin, but it felt flat, too fake and unfeeling.

He was escaping, wasn’t being Unwound, something that he’d hoped for with all his wildest dreams but hadn’t realized was so possible, so selective, so convenient. . .

Moblit slammed the trunk shut, plunging Eren into darkness.  He closed his eyes, prepared to stave off potential panic attacks, to think about _anything_ but the walls collapsing in on him.

He brought his knees up to his face as he felt the car tremble and jerk into motion.  He focused on the jostling of his body as it lurched over bumps and potholes, the quiet hum of the speakers to the front of the car.

He imagined wide open spaces, the desert Graveyard and the brightness of the sky even at night, the beach and perfect white clouds and rough ocean waves, the cornfields lying along the highway between Shiganshina and Trost. . .

Eren toppled over at a sudden stop, wincing as his shoulder connected with the floor, but before he could sit up and rub away the ache, the trunk door swung open to reveal Petra silhouetted by sunlight.

“Hey,” she said, smiling brightly at him, a stark contrast from when they were still at the harvest camp.  “You can ride with me for the next few hours.”

“Where are we going?” he asked, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dazzling light.

She frowned, nose wrinkling almost comically.  “I’ll explain everything once you’re sitting in the car with me.”  She glanced over her shoulder, as if she expected someone to be there, then tossed Eren a change of clothes.  “Put these on, quickly.”  She turned her back to him, giving him a bit of privacy.

Eren grabbed a pair of jeans from the pile, shucking off his rubber-soled shoes and scrubs in the process.  He tugged them on, with some difficulty since he was seated and they were a little small, then made quick work exchanging his shirt for the plain black t-shirt Petra gave him.

He was about to pull the ugly harvest camp shoes back on when Petra passed him a plastic bag.  “I think you’ll like these better,” she said softly, offering a slight smile as she turned back to face him.

Eren reached into the bag, eyes widening when he pulled out the pair of shoes inside.  “Fuck,” he gasped, recognizing his birthday present from Mikasa.  “Th-thanks,” he stuttered, looking up at Petra.

“They keep your stuff at the camp, for some reason,” she said, shrugging.  “And yours seemed to have some sentimental value; I found a signature on them?”  She tilted her head questioningly.

Eren pulled up the tab on the right shoe, where Mikasa had scribbled a short message in cursive that was illegible to most:  _You wear shoes out too quickly._ He read it out loud to Petra, which made her laugh.

He knew the other shoe had its own note, a more personal one that he wouldn’t be sharing with anyone, one he’d never even shown Armin:

_You’re the brother I never knew I wanted.  Love, MA_

* * *

Eren begged off to the restroom, complaining about a dire need to piss.  Once there and finished, he washed his face, contemplating his situation, his surroundings, his unknown destination. . .

He once more stood in the middle of the desert, seemingly stranded and bombarded by intense sunlight, sand dunes, and scrubby plants.  Apparently Sina Harvest Camp hadn’t been too far from the Graveyard.

He stared longingly at a vending machine outside the bathroom, his stomach rumbling, missing the breakfast he never had.  He chewed on his lip, as if that would get him nourishment, and flinched when a hand touched his arm.

Eren turned to see Petra looking at him, a hint of amusement in her eyes.  “I have food in the car,” she said, smiling.

He nodded and followed her back to the SUV, taking the passenger seat.  He hesitated to buckle the seatbelt, remembering, even though it was just a ruse, how it felt being strapped to a gurney and taken to be Unwound. . .

“I don’t want to get pulled over, Eren,” Petra muttered pointedly as she turned the key in the ignition.

“R-right,” Eren said, snapping the buckle into place.

Petra smoothly pulled the SUV onto the interstate, then said, “There’s a cooler behind your seat.  Eat whatever you like.”

Eren groped behind him until he grasped the ridged handle of a cooler.  He pulled it into his lap, with some difficulty since his arm was twisted at an odd angle, and opened it to see a few plastic-wrapped sandwiches, bags of baby carrots and grapes, and juice boxes.  Typical harvest camp fare.

He chose one of the sandwiches, uncaring what sort of meat it was stuffed with, and unwrapped it, scarfing it down within a few minutes.  He reached for another, but hesitated before biting into it, glancing at Petra.

She focused on the road ahead, frowning as if she sensed him looking at her.  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Eren cleared his throat, unsure exactly _how_ he should phrase his question, unsure that he would get any kind of answer that he would appreciate, but Petra recognized his unspoken words immediately.

“We save as many Unwinds as we can,” Petra told him softly.  “We always have.”

Eren sighed.  “How is it good enough when other Unwinds still get picked apart?”

Petra shook her head, a sad smile on her lips.  “I know it’s not,” she admitted, “but the Scouts are working to change it.  But believe it or not, it’s a difficult political battle for us; Unwinding has more supporters than opponents.”

Eren scowled, furiously tearing into his second sandwich, even as he recalled Levi saying something similar in his cellar.  “Fuck,” he said once he swallowed.

“Yes,” Petra agreed.

Once he polished off the rest of that sandwich, considerably more content, at least appetite-wise, he wondered, “So where are we going?  The Graveyard?”

Petra hummed, as if she was trying to think of what to say.  “No, I’m afraid. . .”

“What?” Eren prompted when she trailed off.  He stuck a straw in a juice box, sipping at it while he waited.

Finally, Petra confessed, “The Graveyard isn’t safe anymore.  A few Unwinds stole a vehicle, presumably for some noble purpose, and didn’t come back.  The Commander is worried the Juvies captured them.”

Eren coughed as apple juice dripped down the wrong pipe.  Petra threw him a concerned look, but he rolled his eyes, rubbing at his throat as if that would soothe the scratching.  _Does she really not know?_

“We’re heading to Mexico,” she then said as if his fit hadn’t interrupted.

“M-Mexico?” Eren stuttered, voice a little creaky from coughing.  “Why there?”

“Oh, Eren, do you really think Unwinding is legal everywhere?”

Eren blinked at her, surprised.  “Fuck, we could’ve run to Canada from the beginning,” he realized, laughing at his own – and Jean’s – stupidity.

* * *

 

Petra pulled over again ten miles from the border.  She gestured for Eren to get out of the car and stepped out herself, climbing to the top and opening the luggage carrier with an astonishing ease for someone her size.

Eren stared at it with wide, apprehensive eyes.  “No,” he said immediately, stepping away from the SUV.

“Eren,” she said, patiently, “I promise that it’s safe; we’ve down this more times than even Dr. Zoe can count.”

Eren shook his head, clutching at his too-tight jeans with damp hands.

Petra jumped down so that she could stand in front of him.  “Eren, you’ll be in there for only an hour, tops.”

Eren swallowed as sweat beaded on his forehead.  How did an hour count as _only_?  “I can’t,” he protested.  _Jean’s not here to calm me down._

“Border patrol checks cars for Unwinds being smuggled out of the country,” Petra informed him, crossing her arms insistently.

“Why wouldn’t they check _that_?” Eren inquired, pointing at the carrier.

“Because,” Petra said, blinking innocently at him, “I’m young and small.  They would _never_ suspect someone like _me_ of something so _illegal_.”

“I, uh, no, fuck.”  Eren paced in a tight circle, rubbing his face, heart beating in anticipation.

“It’s either you’re caught and returned to a harvest camp, where you _will_ be Unwound without delay, or you get into the carrier and survive till your eighteenth birthday.”

Eren wished he could consider. . .  But no, there was nothing _to_ consider; the choice was obvious.  He inhaled bracingly and climbed the SUV.  He lay on his side and curled up into a ball, and when Petra closed it, he pinched his eyes shut and kissed the sky goodbye.

Even as he felt the car shift back into motion, his body rocking in the opposite direction, he kept his eyelids sealed, controlling the darkness, but he couldn’t control the feeling of the walls and ceiling caving in, the viscous air he sucked in barely penetrating his lungs.

Eren was lightheaded within moments, white spots dancing across his eyelids as he struggled to remain conscious.  He was all too aware of the sound of his own heartbeat, too focused on how loud his stressed breathing sounded in the tiny space.

_Calm down,_ he tried to tell himself.  _Fuck, calm down calm down calm down._

Eren clutched at his hair, trying to think about the way it tickled his face, ears, and neck, how it was probably long enough to rival Mikasa’s as he’d last seen hers, how it felt when Jean buried his fingers in the strands. . .

He tried to remember Jean’s harsh yet soothing words from Levi’s cellar, how he’d threatened to slap him if he didn’t calm down; he could _just_ recall his gentler coaxing when they were in transit to the harvest camp.

He thought of all the ways Jean said his name:  with anger during their fights (most of which now seemed pointless); with irritation and impatience when Eren was slow to grasp a concept; with tenderness when they slept together for a sense of safety at the camp; and far more recently, with _want_ when he gasped it into Eren’s hair.

Eren wished he could hear it a few hundred more times, and that Jean could hear his own name from Eren in turn.  He wondered, as his breathing slowed, as he found the perfect distraction, if Jean would mourn him, _if_ he even mourned. . . 

There was so much Eren didn’t know about Jean, that Jean didn’t know about Eren.  Like, what was his favorite color?  Did he have any pets?  What did he want to be if – _when_ he grew up?  There was so much neither got to discover, so much they might not.

_And still might,_ Eren insisted, picking at the hem of his jeans and smoothing the knots in his shoelaces.

Well, Eren could predict with certainty that Jean wasted no time in cussing him out during breakfast, even if he wasn’t there to hear it.

* * *

“Thank fuck,” Eren gasped when Petra opened the luggage carrier.

“See?” she said, raising her eyebrows at him.  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Eren shrugged as he climbed out, unwilling to explain that his coping mechanism was reminiscing about his friend/boyfriend/whatever, and that he was far more sentimental than he’d originally planned.  He immediately returned to the passenger seat, slumping into it comfortably as Petra restarted the SUV.

“You were only in there for fifty minutes,” Petra added, smiling slightly.

Eren, deciding he’d rather _not_ answer impending queries about his claustrophobia, asked, “How was the crossing?”

“Easy,” Petra said.  “It always is for me.”

Eren looked at her, gaze lingering long enough that he noticed more than her short stature, slight build, and strawberry blonde hair.  She was definitely pretty, with a heart-shaped face and large light brown eyes.

“Hey, I’m too old for you,” Petra scolded teasingly, presumably sensing him staring.

Eren snickered and commented, “You’re really not my type.”

“Oh, I know,” Petra said, shooting a glance at him.  “I read your file.”

Eren’s face heated up, and he angled it away to watch the desert scenery outside the window.  “W-what did it say?”

“That you’re something of a problem child,” Petra replied, openly amused.

“All Unwinds technically are,” Eren grumbled to himself.

“And,” Petra added, as if she hadn’t heard him, “that you got into four fights in only one month there?”

It sounded like she was asking for an explanation, so he returned his full attention to her.  “They deserved it,” he said with a shrug.

“Hmm, why do you say that?”

Eren could remember every single fistfight he’d ever gotten into, the only area where his memory was infallible, so he recalled, “First guy made a pass at a girl that obviously wasn’t interested.”  He leaned his head back, clicking his tongue as he continued, “The second thought he was better than us because he was a tithe.  The third one was kind of an accident, actually, since I bumped into him, and he shoved me. . .”  Eren smirked at the memory, proud that for once he hadn’t started the fight, but then he swallowed as the final one came to mind.  “The last guy called me and my b-friend fags when he saw us coming out of the bathroom together.”

“That would be pretty normal if you were girls,” Petra commented mildly.

Eren chuckled.  “Yeah, one of my friends back home said something like that once.”  He beat back the sudden rush of homesickness at the thought of Mikasa.

“It’s a sore subject, huh?” Petra prodded sympathetically.

Eren stared at her, not quite sure what to say, but then he nodded slowly.

“So that boy that you told Dr. Zoe about. . .  Is he your boyfriend?”

Eren stiffened, biting his lip and considering his words.  “He, uh, kinda?”

Petra laughed lightly.  “Never really talked about it, did you?”

“No,” Eren admitted, fidgeting in his seat.  “I guess we, uh, confessed all the feelings stuff and kissed a few times” – _and then some_ – “but we never exactly defined our relationship.”

Petra hummed thoughtfully, then said, “You don’t _have_ to define it.”

Eren pulled his feet up to the seat and, smiling to himself, said, “I know.”

* * *

They passed through small desert towns along the way, towns that looked eerily enough like Stohess that Eren alternatively scowled out of the window at random pedestrians and slouched low in his seat to hide from nonexistent Juvie cops.

Petra remarked, with some amusement, “Before Unwinding was legalized, people _from_ Mexico used to sneak into the United States.”

“Huh,” Eren said, grinning.  “That’s kind of weird.”  Then he glanced at the clock, frowning at the lateness, at the lengthening shadows outside the car.  He was hungry again, and they’d already finished the food that Petra brought from Sina.  “Are we almost there?”

“About another hour,” Petra told him.

Eren watched her concentrate on the darkening road ahead of them, wondering how many times she’d traveled this way.  Enough times that she didn’t need a map or a GPS, probably.  “Is this place temporary?” he wondered.

Petra furrowed her brow, as if weighing her answer.  “That depends,” she admitted.  “Ideally, yes, but the place isn’t big enough for more than twenty or so Unwinds at a time.”

“What is this place anyway?”

“A mansion an hour away from the closest town,” she told him nonchalantly.

Eren gaped at her.  “How the fuck did the Scouts get a _mansion_ in _Mexico_?” he demanded.

Petra smirked at him.  “It’s the Commander’s,” she replied simply.

“Yeah, but _how_.”

“I don’t know,” she said.  “He doesn’t talk about it, so use your imagination when you speculate.”

Eren rolled his eyes but locked that idea away for later.  “So where do the other Unwinds go if there are more than twenty?”

“Asking all the right questions, are you?” Petra mused, raising an eyebrow.

Eren blushed, realizing that he’d picked up another one of Jean’s (few) good habits.

“If they turn eighteen, we give them a forged passport and smuggle them back over the border, if they want.  If we simply run out of space, we encourage them to get jobs and help make arrangements for them in town.”

“Um, but what about—“

“Oh, you’ll learn Spanish,” Petra reassured Eren as she turned the SUV onto a narrow, hole-riddled road that winded through an orange grove.

Eren could already sense them approaching their destination as the car lurched up and down along the rough asphalt.  His fingers twitched with anticipation, and he stared out the window, eagerly drinking in the views of the orchard.  He’d never seen orange trees before, only really knew that’s what they were from the sweet, tangy scent wafting through the vents, as they weren’t even bearing fruit yet.

He blinked, recognizing an oversight.  “Hey, Petra,” he said, “what day is it?”

“Oh, it’s the second of March.  Why?”

“No reason,” Eren said, grinning at his sharpening reflection in the window.  “It’s just been a while since I kept track.”  And his birthday would be in a few weeks. . .  Sure, he was only turning sixteen, but life would always go on.

Petra simply hummed in response, turning up the radio and blasting Spanish lyrics.  She sang along quietly, and Eren glanced at her in surprise.

“You know Spanish?” he wondered.

Her lips turned up into a slight smile as she nodded.  At the disbelieving look on his face, she told him, “I’m half Costa Rican.”

“O-oh,” Eren said, eyes widening.  He returned his attention to the orange grove to hide the ashamed blush on his face.

“I get that reaction a lot,” Petra commented, tone laced with irony.

Then, just a few minutes later, after Eren cooled down, she said, “Oh, we’re here.”

He faced forward in time to see a chain link fence ( _oh fucking hell not another one_ ) heavily entwined with vines.  Petra honked her horn, and it swung out, pushed open by a familiar figure.

* * *

As soon as Petra and Eren climbed out of the car, Levi led them across the spacious yard.  When Eren glanced around, he saw a pair of teenagers kicking a soccer ball across the grass.  He scowled and tore his gaze away right before entering the mansion.

The entryway looked like something from a movie, with a ceiling two stories high, complete with a dangling chandelier, and two sets of stairs on either side of the cavernous room, each branching off into a different direction.  Eren stared around, his footsteps echoing, a little uncomfortable in a place of grandeur.

So focused was he on his surroundings that when he glanced down, it was to see Levi watching him, his deadpan gaze flickering with annoyance.  “Uh, what?” he said.

“The kitchen is that way,” Levi said, pointing at a door towards Eren’s right.  “You missed dinner, but there are leftovers in the refrigerator.”

“R-right.”  He watched as Levi departed to the opposite door, Petra just behind him.  He had so many questions and was tempted to follow, but it was obvious that he wasn’t welcome.

And the last time he eavesdropped on a conversation did not end well.

As Eren made his way to the kitchen, he realized there was something surreal about being alone, something strange about preparing his own food (even if he was simply reheating spaghetti in a stainless steel microwave), something alien about eating with no one around.

He rested his forehead against the cool table surface, listening to the quiet atmosphere, a weird sense of foreboding creeping over him, as if _something_ was about to—

Eren bolted upright when he heard the kitchen door slam open and bounce off the wall.  A man with dirty blonde hair and a messy undercut stood there, frown lines stretched out on his forehead and around his eyes.  “So you’re new here, are you?” he demanded.

“Yeah?” Eren offered, confused by the hostility.

“Well, listen here—“

“Auruo, you don’t have to scare him,” another voice chimed in, and Petra appeared behind him, gaze stern.

Auruo stiffened as if she had struck him, stepping back.  “Sure, whatever,” he grumbled, backing out of the kitchen as she approached Eren.

“Sorry about him,” Petra told Eren.  “He likes to imitate Levi, so he was probably just about to tell you to clean your own plate.”

“Oh, uh, right,” Eren said, frowning at the red-stained dish in front of him.  “I’ll do that.”  He stood up and went to the sink, taking the plate with him.  As he ran it under cold water, Petra continued:

“I’m leaving tomorrow; do you need anything from me?”

Eren shook his head, then asked, “Are you going back to the harvest camp?”

“I am,” Petra said mildly.  “I only took two days off.”

Eren chewed on his lip thoughtfully.  “Um, can you make sure—“

“That Dr. Zoe sneaks out your boyfriend?  Sure, no problem.”  Petra patted his shoulder, smiling as Eren splashed himself with soapy water.

Eren hissed at the chill and turned off the faucet.  “Well, I mean, Moblit already promised that too,” Eren muttered.  He wrung out the soaked chest of his shirt.

“Maybe two promises are better than one?”

Eren shrugged.  “It’s just weird being alone right now,” he admitted quietly.  “Especially without him.”

“I understand,” Petra remarked, frowning as she looked over her shoulder at the kitchen door.  Then, she commented, “I think you’ve washed that plate enough.”

Eren stared at the dish in his hands, at the way it glistened with water.  He grinned sheepishly.  “I’m not used to chores; I haven’t done any since I was in the Graveyard.”

Petra smiled.  “You’ll get used to them again.”  Then, to his surprise, she winked.  “Trust me.”

* * *

If Eren ever doubted Petra’s word, he resolved never to do so again.

After showing Eren to his room (with two single beds, one of which would remain unoccupied), Levi wasted no time in assigning him tasks.

“Everyone cleans around here,” he said, passing Eren a broom and a dustpan.  “You’ll be expected to pull your weight; sweep everywhere every day starting tomorrow.”

Eren clutched the broom handle tightly, about to ask Levi one of the many questions on his mind, but the short man disappeared before he could even open his mouth.

He rolled his eyes and flopped onto one of the beds.  It was the softest, most comfortable place he’d slept on since he left Shiganshina, but the room was so empty. . .

And such was the problem; for someone who had difficulty making friends, Eren enjoyed company an awful lot.

After he took care of his pre-bedtime routine and stripped down to his boxers (Levi neglected to supply him with pajamas), Eren curled up under the blankets, hugging the pillow to his stomach.  He closed his eyes and attempted to slow his breathing, the silence in the bedroom filling his head unpleasantly.

When an hour passed and he could still feel the tension in his limbs, Eren got out of bed and pulled on a shirt before quietly making his way out the room, downstairs, and out the surprisingly unlocked front door.

He wandered barefoot around the dark yard, his toes sinking pleasantly into cool grass.  He kicked at nothing, the quiet atmosphere outside a sharp, relaxing contrast to the emptiness of inside.

The sky was thick with ghostly, moon-illuminated clouds, so Eren returned inside after only a short while of wandering, beginning to feel a little tired.  But before he could make his way back upstairs, he heard voices coming from behind the kitchen door.

Eren bit his lip, then rolled his eyes and decided he was too curious to bother with caution.

“And how’s the Graveyard doing?” Petra’s voice was asking.

“Hmm, not good,” Levi commented mildly.  “Stohess is being flooded with more and more Juvies since their headquarters was attacked.”

“You think they’ll attack?” Auruo wondered.

“Yes,” Levi said without hesitation.  “And when they do, well, we’ll have to be careful.”

“We need to recruit more,” Petra said.  “We need more safe houses, and—“

“Yes,” Levi interrupted, “but it’s difficult.  Most people won’t do something as illegal as helping Unwinds, and the Scouts are barely a rumor.”

Eren leaned against the wall beside the door, fists trembling as he thought of how they left the Graveyard.  He, Jean, and Annie had thought they were _helping_ , but maybe they’d made it worse.  Maybe they’d confirmed suspicions. . .

“Do you think it’s time to start recruiting Unwinds?” Auruo inquired, a hint of hope in his voice.

“Absolutely not,” Levi shut him down quickly.

Eren shoved the door open, a sudden fire in his veins at the words.  “Why the fuck not?” he demanded.

All three of the room’s occupants, gathered around the table, turned their heads to stare at him, Petra with wide-eyed shock, Auruo with irritation, and Levi with a raised eyebrow, as if he’d known that Eren was standing outside the whole time.

“I’ve been over this with you,” Levi said, eyes fixed on Eren’s face.  “You’re still an Unwind and until you’re eighteen—“

“Yes, I fucking _know_ that,” Eren hissed, rolling his eyes, “but what about _our_ say, huh?  What about what _we_ want?”

“There are former Unwinds in the Scouts,” Petra pointed out, brow furrowed worriedly.

“Have any of them been to a fucking _harvest camp_?”

Petra and Auruo exchanged looks, while Levi simply replied, “No.”

“Then why _not_ use _us_?” Eren wondered, waving his hands as he glared at the adults.  “Why _not_ let the ones that escaped talk about their experiences?  _No one_ fucking _knows_ what goes in a harvest camp, and maybe if they _did_ , Unwinds and Scouts would get more sympathy.”

Levi still stared at him, gaze becoming contemplative, while Petra and Auruo watched him, as if for cues.

“Unwinds don’t belong to themselves,” Eren explained.  He was on a roll, he would make them understand, they’d let him join and work on ending it. . .  “Shouldn’t Scouts _get_ that we don’t own our own bodies?”

“Hold on, you little—“

Levi held up his hand, cutting Auruo off mid-sentence.  He just appraised Eren, and he began to feel sweat bead on his forehead, wondering if he’d overstepped some kind of line.  Then, to Eren’s astonishment, he said, “I agree.”

Eren gaped at him, and Auruo said, “What the fuck?”

“Shut up,” Petra hissed at him.  Then, to Levi, she asked, “Can you explain?”

Levi stood and walked around the table till he was in front of Eren, and though he looked down to make eye contact with the Scout, there was still something distinctly _intimidating_ about the way he held himself.  “It still doesn’t change the fact that as soon as you – or any other willing Unwind – steps into the public eye, the Juvies will come after you.”

“Then, I don’t know, do whatever sneaky political bullshit you have to!” Eren retorted, ignoring the chill of fear he got from Levi’s unblinking eyes.

“You just want to help, don’t you?” Petra wondered from the table, her eyes downcast and sympathetic.

Eren nodded, grinning proudly.  “Yeah, and I don’t want to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Unfortunately, you’ll have to,” Levi said, crossing his arms and leaning against the table behind him.  “I can speak with the Commander about what you’ve said – because it’s pretty good coming from a brat like you – but you’ll have to get accustomed to uselessness.”

Eren scowled, clenching and unclenching his hands.  He opened his mouth to argue some more, until he made eye contact with Petra, who shook her head slightly, silently telling him to let it rest.  Then, he nodded, back and shoulders rigid as Levi dismissed him.

* * *

“So did something happen to the bookstore?”

Levi turned from where he was cleaning the outside of a window to look at Eren.  “Of course not,” he said immediately.  “Why the fuck would you think something like that?”

Eren shrugged, kicking at a stray leaf.  “You’re here and not there,” he pointed out.

“The Commander asked me to be here,” Levi explained, returning his attention to the window, swiping dirt off of it with a white cloth.

“What about the store?” Eren pressed.

“Why are you so insistent, brat?” Levi wondered.

Eren fidgeted, wiping his hands against the back of his jeans.  “I don’t know,” he admitted.  “Nostalgia?”

Levi glanced over his shoulder, offering him a slight smirk.  “I never thought you were the sentimental type.”

Eren stared at the ground, at the sneakers Mikasa gifted him.  He thought about the last book he attempted to read, how it still probably sat on his bedside table at home ( _if it can still be called that_ ), how Armin had lent it to him saying he’d like it.  He stuck a hand into his empty back pocket, as if his wallet with his photo was still there, waiting to be scrutinized.

He remembered his mother’s ‘weird’ superstitions and customs, how she followed a calendar based on the moon, how she gave him presents on seemingly random holidays rather than on Christmas.

He thought about how quietly observant Annie was, how quickly she caught on to anything he hid, intentionally or unintentionally.  He wondered where she was, not for the first time since getting to this mansion in Mexico, and hoped that her harvest camp had a Scout like Dr. Zoe.

He touched his lips, briefly, and remembered how it felt when Jean kissed him, like they stood on the sun or were looking down from the roof of a hundred-story building, how his face and body flushed with heat and his head spun with pleasant vertigo.  And he still sometimes thought about the beginning of his crush, especially when the other Unwinds played soccer in the yard.

“Neither did I,” he confessed to Levi.

Levi blinked at him, then said, “I have a good friend looking after the bookstore and keeping the safe house.  He’s not a Scout, but I trust him.”

“Oh, well, as long as it’s still a safe house,” Eren said, scuffing his feet against the grass, suddenly awkward.

Levi continued his work, almost as if Eren never interrupted, and scoffed, “Of course it is.  What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

* * *

The only adults around the mansion were Levi and Auruo, and although Auruo made it no secret that he didn’t enjoy being around ‘bratty Unwinds’, both of them ate meals with the teenagers and contributed to the chores.

But when they were both noticeably absent, Eren took to prowling around the mansion, clutching the handle of his broom like a weapon and searching, listening, sensing any information on the Scouts that he could.

It was almost a week since his arrival when he finally managed to overhear them talking business in the living room.  He lurked outside, broom in hand and dustpan under arm, prepared to use cleaning as an excuse.

“Petra sent news,” Levi’s voice was saying.

“Oh yeah?” said Auruo.  “Is it something good?”

“It’s. . .” Levi trailed off.

Eren held his breath, waiting, waiting, waiting. . .

“Eren, I know you’re outside."

_Shit._  Eren let his gaze dart around the hallway, as if to spy the best escape route, but Levi opened the door before he could flee.

“I was just going to clean,” Eren quickly explained.

Levi raised an eyebrow at him.  “You’re a shitty liar, so don’t bother.”  He stood aside and waved for Eren to come inside.  “You’ll listen in anyway, so I might as well give you permission.”

Eren blinked at him, surprised.  “Oh, it’s—“

“I insist,” Levi said, an evil little smirk curling his lips.

Eren frowned but stepped into the room, leaned his broom against the wall, and occupied a vacant chair as Levi shut the door and took up residence on a sofa.  Then he announced:

“The Graveyard was invaded.”

A heavy silence fell over the room.  Eren gaped at Levi while Auruo stared at him, struck dumb.  “W-what happened?” he asked.

“As could’ve been expected,” Levi replied with a slight shrug.

“You mean the Juvies—“

Levi shot a silencing look at Eren, interrupting him.  He bit his lip, beginning to fidget.

“Mike was visiting at the time, so they were somewhat prepared.  The Juvies only captured about twenty AWOL Unwinds—“

“ _Only_?” Eren said, unable to help himself.

“The adults are talking,” Auruo commented testily.

Eren glared at him but waited for Levi to finish:

“The Commander was arrested as well, and Mike’s plane vanished.”

“Vanished?  How the fuck does an entire plane _vanish_?” Eren demanded.

“We lose radio contact with it,” Levi replied, barely glancing at him.  “Or it loses whatever tracker it had.  This particularly plane was already missing some tech since it was discarded, so now it’s just an insult to injury.”

“Is there a way to find it?” Auruo wondered.

“I imagine so,” Levi said, almost contemplative, “but it’s not my area of expertise.  And we’re a little shorthanded as it is.”  And before Eren could even open his mouth and ask about joining the Scouts, Levi responded, “We’re leaderless at the moment, so I don’t think opening _enrollment_ to Unwinds is going to help.”

Eren scowled, bowing his head in frustration.

“Mike is smart,” Levi added.  “He’ll know how to take care of the Unwinds with him.”

“If they’re still alive,” Auruo added.

“Of course they’re still fucking alive,” Levi rebuked, crossing his arms and slouching.  “Airplane is the safest form of transportation.”

“A ton of good it’ll do them if the Juvies shoot them down.”

“If they do that,” Levi pointed out pragmatically, “they lose their organs.”

Eren rolled his eyes; of course, wouldn’t want to waste the precious _organs_ , and never mind the _lives_ attached to them.

And even as he idly listened to Levi and Auruo discussing options, his mind wandered to the Unwinds from the Graveyard.  Did Sasha still steal food, and did Connie still tease her incessantly about it?  Were Reiner and Bertolt still inseparable?  Was Historia still as seemingly empty as the day Eren arrived at the Graveyard, and was Ymir still something of a control freak?  Did Hitch still rule the kitchen (and her cooks) with an iron fist, and was Boris still a homophobic asshole?  Did Hannah still struggle to cure everyone of their ailments with so few medical supplies?

Eren had so many questions, but he doubted that he’d ever get the answers to them.

* * *

Levi allowed the AWOL Unwinds in his care to compose letters home, if they so desired.  Most did not, especially since ‘home’ was no longer such for them, but Eren took to staring at a piece of paper for hours, wondering what he would send. . .

A letter to his father was out of the question; been there, done that.

Letters to Armin and Mikasa seemed obvious, but Levi had warned him to take care what he said in his letter, to be subtle and secretive should border patrol or the Juvies see fit to search it.  And if Eren was anything, it was unsubtle.

So he started scribbling on the paper, doodling random geometric shapes that turned into flowers and clouds, as if he could send a sketch rather than an actual letter.

Too bad he couldn’t draw for shit.

He jerked his head up when he heard a honking outside, distantly recognizing it as a car horn, then shrugged it off as an unimportant distraction.  He flopped down on his bed, burying his face in the pillow and wishing, not for the first time, that it was J—

“Eren?”

Eren bolted upright as Petra slammed his door open.  “Oh, you’re back?” he said.

“Yep, and I brought someone new too,” she told him, grinning.

“Oh, great,” Eren said, lying down and snuggling his pillow again.

“They’re your new roommate,” Petra informed him, glancing at the still-empty bed on the other side of the room.

“Great,” Eren commented, fixing his gaze on the popcorn ceiling.  Whoever it was, they probably wouldn’t get along.

Petra sighed.  “You’re not curious to meet them?”

“Why does it matter?” Eren muttered.  “I’ll meet them soon anyway.”

“All right, I’ll leave you to whatever you were doing,” Petra said, and Eren could still hear her exasperation echoing in his ears when his stomach growled.

It was sometime after dinner, but Eren had barely eaten his fill then.  So he decided he ought to make his way to the kitchen and dig up some leftovers.  He pushed the door open, expecting to find it empty, only to see the last person he could’ve hoped to.

Jean turned his head around, barely glancing before returning his attention to the sink, but he immediately did a double take, gaping at Eren, disbelief and something like excitement mingling on his face.  He set a dish down in the sink and approached him.

Eren grinned at him, his shock vanishing to be replaced with relief.  “I’m glad you’re—“

Jean punched him across the jaw, and Eren reeled back, clutching at the throbbing skin and scowling.  “The fuck was that for?” he demanded.

“You fucking _ditched_ me,” Jean accused, glaring at him, “right after I gave you a fucking handjob.”

“The fuck?”  Eren stared at him.  “I didn’t have a fucking _choice_ , asshole.”

They eyed each other, Eren rubbing his sore jaw and Jean keeping his hand clenched into a fist.  Finally, he lurched forward and grabbed Eren, pulling him into a tight, suffocating hug.

“I’m so fucking happy you weren’t Unwound,” Jean said, shaking slightly against him.

Eren returned the embrace, matching his force as he inhaled his familiar salty scent.  At a loss for words, he simply muttered, “Y-yeah.”

* * *

Eren forgot his nagging appetite, forgot everything that wasn’t Jean, his voice, his warmth, his smell. . .

“I fucking hate the Scouts,” Jean muttered irritably while Eren led the way upstairs, still holding tight to each other.

“You shouldn’t,” Eren pointed out, wincing when he stubbed his toe against one of the steps.  “They saved us, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, but. . .” Jean trailed off, shaking his head slightly.  “Never mind, I’ll worry about it later.”

Eren nodded his agreement and pushed the door to his – _their_ room open (cohabitation was probably a bad idea, but he wasn’t about to complain).  He attempted to make quick work shoving his scribbles into the desk drawer, but Jean snatched them from his hand.

“Oh, Eren, were you _drawing_?” Jean wondered, a teasing smirk twisting his lips.

Lips that Eren very much wanted to kiss, but instead he reached for the papers and tugged them out of Jean’s hand.  He didn’t resist, but he did comment, “Flowers?”

“I can’t draw like you, asshole,” Eren retorted, rolling his eyes.

Jean took the papers back, set them on the desk, and grabbed Eren’s discarded pencil.  He glanced at Eren, furrowing his brow, and began sketching.

Eren watched, saw the focus on his face and the way his pursed his lips every few seconds.  It wasn’t a sight he’d seen much, and last time he _had_ seen it, he hadn’t really found the capacity to appreciate it.

He approached Jean, looking over his shoulder, only to see that his hand was blocking the view, and he paused in his scribbling.  “What’re you doing?” Jean asked.

“Uh, trying to see what _you’re_ doing,” Eren replied, shrugging.

Jean turned his head, glaring at him from his periphery.  “I’ll show you as soon as I’m done.”

“Sure,” Eren agreed, sitting on his bed and continuing to watch.  After a few more minutes, the silence, the endless silence that he thought was over now that Jean was with him again, began to irk him, so he threw his pillow, grinning as it connected perfectly with the side of Jean’s head.

Jean spun around, glaring.  “Can’t you be patient?” he hissed.

“Huh, I thought you knew me better than to think that,” Eren commented with a smirk.

“Of all the assholes. . .  Fine.”  Jean shoved the paper in his hand at Eren, then bent down to pick up the pillow.

Eren stared at the drawing, frowning as he examined it.  “D-did you draw this from memory?” he wondered, aware of how strained and high-pitched his voice sounded.

“Yeah, I obviously didn’t have a reference and, uh, well, I thought. . .” Jean trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.  He added, voice small, “I thought you’d like it.”

Eren was still, once more, at a total loss for words as he gaped at the sketch.  “I, uh, I _really_ don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

“Just tell me if I made a mistake or not,” Jean said, looking a little crestfallen.

Eren shook his head.  “No, no, this is. . .”  He traced his finger along the faces on the page, barely caring when the graphite smudged, and smiled.  Then, he stood up and set it face down on the desk before approaching Jean.  “It’s perfect.”

Jean grinned, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  “Then why did you put it down like _that_?”

Eren rolled his eyes and said, “Because I don’t want Mikasa and Armin to watch us make out.”

“It’s just a—“

Eren kissed Jean, because he could, because he was tired of conversation, because it had been way too fucking long, because he loved him. . .  And for a thousand other reasons neither of them could possibly understand.

* * *

“It’s funny,” Jean observed later, his voice muffled against the fabric of Eren’s shirt.

“What is?” Eren wondered, curled into an awkward angle to better bury his nose in Jean’s hair.

“I never really realized how much I missed you till I saw you again,” he said, the arms he had wrapped around Eren’s waist tightening.

Eren blinked in the darkness, his face warm.  “I—“

“I mean, fuck, I thought you were dead for two weeks.”

“I’m sorry,” Eren said.

“It’s not your fault, dumbass,” Jean muttered.  “It’s just, when you weren’t at breakfast, I knew it had happened, but I couldn’t let it go, not really.  I even fucking punched the guy that said you deserved it for all the black eyes you gave out.”

Eren chuckled.  “Wow, thanks for defending me,” he commented wryly.

“Don’t mock me,” Jean grumbled, lightly smacking Eren’s back.  “But how did you cope?”

“Cope with what?”

“With getting here?  With being stuffed in a fucking luggage carrier?”

Eren felt chills creeping up his spine at the memory.  “It, um, I. . .”  He didn’t particularly want to admit what he’d done, but he still replied, “I thought of you.”

“O-oh,” Jean said, and in just that syllable, Eren could hear his embarrassment.  “Uh, can I. . .ask you something?”

“You don’t usually hold back,” Eren noted with some amusement.

“Fine.”  Jean shifted away from Eren and up a little, so that they faced each other.  “Do you know why you’re claustrophobic?  Like, do you have a memory that you associate with small spaces or whatever?”  He watched Eren’s face, openly curious.

Eren chewed on his lip, contemplating an answer.  “I don’t know, to be honest,” he admitted.  “I’ve just always been uncomfortable in smaller places.”  He paused, then continued, “But when I was a kid I used to get these weird nightmares. . .”

“Different than the ones you’ve had since kicking AWOL?”

Eren nodded.  “Yeah, there were these giant walls, and no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t get out of them.  I tried climbing, I tried digging underneath them, I even tried knocking them down once.”  He grinned wryly, remembering.  “But it never worked, and if I ever did get close, there was always something waiting to stop me.”

Jean frowned at him.  “Huh,” he said, contemplative.  Then he wrapped Eren in his arms, and Eren tucked his chin over Jean’s shoulder, accepting his warmth.

They talked idly afterwards, never lingering on a single, weighty topic.  Jean told Eren about how he used to torment his little brother (“Wow, you’re an even bigger ass than I thought.”  “Shut the fuck up; I was twelve.”), and Eren regaled Jean with the story behind when the photo with Mikasa and Armin was taken.

Eventually, Eren’s attention shifted to Jean’s pale, unblemished neck.  He pressed his lips right over the pulse, gratified when Jean shivered against him.

“I missed this,” he admitted, leaning his head back to give him better access.

“Me too,” Eren muttered into his skin.

“We’re never going to a harvest camp again,” Jean continued.

“Fuck no we’re not,” Eren agreed.

“Eren.”

“What?”

“Just bite me already.”

He did.

* * *

The night was a suitable distraction from whatever was weighing on Jean’s mind, but during breakfast, he was already sulky, either snapping at or outright ignoring the other Unwinds.

“He’s not a morning person,” Eren told them with a shrug, but it was only a half-truth.  That became glaringly apparent when the Unwinds trickled off to perform their chores so that only Eren, Jean, and Levi remained in the kitchen.

“Why can’t you save everyone?” Jean demanded, glaring at Levi as he stabbed a sausage with his fork.

Levi glanced at him, face as impassive as always.  “We would if we could,” he replied, eyes flickering over to Eren.  “And I heard from Petra that your boyfriend’s already given an earful to her and Hange.”

Jean shot Eren a look before returning his attention to Levi.  “Fine,” he said, crossing his arms.  “Why _us_?  Why me, why him?”  He nodded towards Eren.  “What’s so special about _us_?”

Levi sipped at his mug of tea, as if contemplating an answer, then said with a shrug, “Nothing.  It was just convenient.”

Jean gaped at him, watched as Levi washed his mug and left the kitchen before looking at Eren.  “This is fucking stupid,” he said.

Eren frowned.  “I know, but what can we do?  They still won’t let me become a Scout.”

“I’m not surprised that you asked again,” Jean whispered to his food.

Eren snorted, picking at his eggs.

“I don’t like it,” Jean said, scowling.

“Like what?”

“That Dr. Zoe snuck us out of the harvest camp because it was ‘convenient’,” Jean replied, making air quotes.

“We’re out, so what’s the big deal?” Eren wondered, staring at him.

“It’s not fair,” Jean complained, “that we – and maybe a few others – get to be _safe_ and _rescued_ but everyone else gets _Unwound_.  Because it’s fucking _convenient_.”

“There’s no point in questioning it,” Eren muttered.  He rubbed his face; he didn’t want to think about it anymore, about how he was safe (for now) and hundreds of Unwinds were awaiting their impending doom.  All he could hope was that one day, things would be different.

“But everything’s been convenient from the beginning,” Jean pointed out with a sigh.  “My dad _conveniently_ got an urgent phone call and you _conveniently_ stole his car; we _conveniently_ found Levi’s safe house; Dr. Zoe _conveniently_ smuggled us out of Sina.”

Eren leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs and eyes fixed on the ceiling while listening to Jean rant.  “You’re saying there have been too many coincidences?”

Jean took his time answering, but when he did, all he said was, “Yeah.”

“Maybe it’s fate,” Eren theorized, frowning.

Jean snorted.  “Eren, don’t tell me you believe in that shit.”

He glared at him from his periphery.  “Why shouldn’t I?” he challenged.

Jean held eye contact with him for a second before shaking his head.  “Maybe because fate screws some people over and others skate by?”

“Maybe,” Eren said, frowning, “but that doesn’t mean some things don’t happen for a reason.”

“So why are _we_ okay?” Jean wondered.  “Why _us_ and not Marco and Annie and everyone else?”

Eren closed his eyes.  “Fuck if I know.”

They lapsed into a comfortable, contemplative silence, Eren still thinking on Levi’s words, wondering what Armin would do or say in his place.  Jean nudged his leg with his foot, and Eren retaliated, smiling slightly at the normalcy of the action.

Eventually, when the light of the sun streaming in through the window blinded them, Jean mused, “Being a teenager sucks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I can't believe I actually finished a multi-chapter fic...
> 
> Thank you to everyone that read/commented/left kudos/just-glanced-but-decided-it-wasn't-their-thing! I appreciate it all like the attention hoarder I truly am!
> 
> And if you're interested, I _might_ (although you shouldn't hold your breath because college) write a sort of prequel to this because I gave Levi lots of unnecessary backstory that I didn't use.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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